


On the road

by Salambo06



Series: Fic Giveaway [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexuality, Casual Sex, Coming Out, Falling In Love, First Meeting, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Road Trips, Sharing a Room, Unilock, friends to lover, minor case, then not so casual anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8534884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: “Who the hell are you?” He asked, voice sore, and he tentatively opened his eyes again.“I told you my name yesterday,” the man replied, “But then you probably don’t remember much.” He was tall, with dark curly hair and sharp cheekbones, and John could only stare. “Sherlock Holmes,” the man continued. “You agreed to drive me to London.”“I did what?” John sighed, wondering once again how he always managed to get himself in such situations.“London, you’re driving me there,” Sherlock said again, walking toward the window and opening the curtains. John looked away, groaning. “You said you needed to go see your sister in Wales but didn’t have a car. I offered mine, if you take me to London on the way.”





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beejohnlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beejohnlocked/gifts).



> Hi everyone!
> 
> So this is the seventh of ten fics for my latest Fic Giveaway, and this one is for Beejohnlocked who requested an Unilock Road Trip. I got a lot of inspiration from[this comic](http://tjandamal.com/index.html).  
> It will be posted in chapters since it got rather out of hand! Thank you so much for this prompt, and I hope you'll like it :)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Pauline
> 
> Thank you to [Heather](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/) for her job as a beta !  
> [My Tumblr](http://johnlockfulfillment.tumblr.com/)  
> 

“Another,” John said, waving his empty glass at the bartender. He couldn’t tell how long he had been drinking glass after glass in what seemed to be a desert pub, but in all honesty, John didn’t care. “You know what, leave the bottle,” he added when the man poured him another glass.

“Sure, mate,” the bartender replied, sliding the bottle back toward him on the counter and John barely caught it.

“Cheers,” he sighed, closing his eyes before emptying his glass quickly. “You can never trust anyone, you know,” he mumbled while filling his glass again, “You think you know someone enough to tell them your deepest fears, and they just abandon you.” John shook his head, raising his glass before saying, “To shitty people!”

“Bad day, was it?” The man asked, stopping in front of John behind the counter.

“You can say that, yes,” John replied with a laugh, “I can’t believe I thought she- fuck.”

The man smiled at him, shaking his head, “Women!”

John wanted to laugh again, or cry maybe, but he only swallowed down another drink. He jumped as the pub’s door opened but was already too drunk to care. He was only here to forget.

“Phone’s ringing,” the man said, forcing John back to reality as he answered with shaking hands.

“Yes?”

“ _John?_ ”

“Hey Harry,” John breathed out, not sure if he was relieved or not to hear his sister’s voice right now.

“ _Where are you?”_

“Out,” he replied, knowing she’d be able to tell anyway.

“ _You sound drunk, John_ ,” she said, sounding disappointed and John bit back a bitter reply.

“Not enough,” he said instead, playing with his empty glass.

“ _You know, you don’t have to come-”_

“No,” John cut her off, “I’ll be there, I said I will.”

“ _You really don’t have to, I’m getting better and Clara is here._ ”

John closed his eyes again, “Harry, I said I would come, so I will.”

“ _All the way from Scotland_ _?_ ”

“So what,” John replied, “I’ll drive.”

“ _T_ _o_ _Wales? You can’t be serio-_ ”

“I’ll be there,” John said again, more firmly and he heard Harriet sigh.

“ _Ok, just be careful_.”

“As always,” he replied and at least it made her laugh, “I’ll see you in one week, ok?”

“ _Yes, ok.”_ she replied, “ _Oh and John, time to head back home, ok?”_

“Ok,” John said with a smile before the line was cut off. He stared at his phone for long seconds, three empty shot glasses on the counter and the music making his ears buzz. Harriet was right, he needed to get home before he couldn’t even walk anymore.

Just one last drink.

 

* * * * *

 

John’s head was spinning, his throat dry and his entire body aching. It took him another minute to recognize the four walls around him. His bedroom. _How did I get here_ ? He tried to straighten up but his ears were buzzing, a wave of nausea rushing over him and he quickly lied down again, closing his eyes. He remembered going to the pub last night, he remembered drinking, _a lot_ , and Harry calling him. God, he had promised her he’d be there for her birthday.

John sighed, wondering how the hell he was supposed to drive all the way to Wales. Mary had kept the car, as well as everything else really. _Who gives a fuck_. Mary was gone, for good, and John once again only felt relief rush through him. He had spent too long trapped in a relationship doomed to fail, and he wasn’t going to continue ruining his life like this. He needed to get things back in hand, finish his degree and become a bloody doctor. It was time to-

“Where do you keep your bread?” A voice called from behind the door and John was sitting up immediately. He swallowed back another wave of nausea as he looked around him. Yes, he was definitely in his bedroom. God, what had he done last night? “I know you’re awake.” The voice came again, a male voice. “I’m coming in.”

The door opened and John closed his eyes at the sudden sunlight. “Who the hell are you?” He asked, voice sore, and he tentatively opened his eyes again.

“I told you my name yesterday,” the man replied, “But then you probably don’t remember much.” He was tall, with dark curly hair and sharp cheekbones, and John could only stare. “Sherlock Holmes,” the man continued. “You agreed to drive me to London.”

“I did what?” John sighed, wondering once again how he always managed to get himself in such situations.

“London, you’re driving me there,” Sherlock said again, walking toward the window and opening the curtains. John looked away, groaning. “You said you needed to go see your sister in Wales but didn’t have a car. I offered mine, if you take me to London on the way.”

“It’s not on my way at all,” John remarked. “You do know where London is, right?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied, turning to face him again. “Your sister’s birthday is one week from today, it leaves us plenty of time to make a detour.”

John stared at him for a long moment, and Sherlock stared right back. Had he really agreed to such a thing? John sighed, it did sound like what a drunk him would do. “I’m going to be sick,” he said, getting up quickly and running for the loo. He only had the time to hear Sherlock walk back out of the room before he was throwing up.

He barely registered him coming back before there was a flanel being handed to him, and John quickly flushed the toilet before accepting it, “Thanks,” he said, wiping his mouth before standing up. He glanced at Sherlock, still silent and looking at him, before washing his mouth. “I’m guessing you already know my name,” John asked and Sherlock nodded. “Right. Ok.” He sighed, leaning against the bathroom counter. “London, why?”

“Does it matter?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow and John smiled, shaking his head.

“I guess not,” he replied, sighing again. “When do you have to be there?”

“A week or so,” Sherlock replied, crossing his arms on his chest. “I don’t have any proper date set.”

John considered his next question carefully, “And why can’t you go there by yourself?”

It took several seconds for Sherlock to reply, a small smile playing on his lips, “I don’t like to drive.” He stared at John for another beat before turning around and leaving the room. “I still don’t know where you keep your bread,” he heard him call from the kitchen, and John laughed.

_What the hell was he going to do?_

“Top shelf, above the sink,” he replied, feeling his lips stretch into a smile as he heard a content sigh from the kitchen. He walked to the door carefully, making sure he wasn’t going to get nauseous again, before heading to the kitchen. The man, _Sherlock_ , was sitting at the table with a mug of coffee and a half eaten piece of toast in his plate. He was looking at his phone, and for a moment John got lost in contemplation. There was no denying it, Sherlock was good looking, and again John couldn’t help but wonder what exactly happened the night before. He didn’t feel sore, and had absolutely no memories of taking Sherlock to bed, but then, he had no memories of even coming home. “I-”

“No, we didn’t sleep together,” Sherlock cut him off, not looking up from his phone.

“Oh,” John breathed out, “Ok.” He rubbed a hand against his neck, glancing at the window and then back to Sherlock. “Where did you sleep?”

“I didn’t,” Sherlock replied absently.

John stared, “Right.” He walked to the sink, pouring himself a glass of water. He leant against the counter, still observing Sherlock. His cheekbones seemed even sharper from here, and for a moment, John felt the irresistible urge to touch. He forced himself to look away, cursing himself.

“You have questions,” Sherlock suddenly said, finally looking up at him.

“One or two, yes,” John smiled, clearing his throat. He put down his glass and went to sit down in front of him.

“Go ahead,” Sherlock said, putting his phone in his pocket and leaning back against his chair.

John inhaled deeply, “Why do you need to go to London?”

“I just need to go,” Sherlock replied, and apparently wasn’t going to go deeper than that.

John nodded, “Ok. Why don’t you drive?”

This time Sherlock smiled as he replied, “It’s boring.”

John let out a chuckle, “Boring?” Sherlock nodded, not saying anything, and John shook his head. “Alright. Why would you have me drive you to London? Seems rather useless, yeah?”

Sherlock leant forward again, resting his elbow on the table, “I need to go to London, I don’t like to drive, but you do.” He stopped, watching him, and John nodded, waiting for him to continue. “You need to go to Wales and are not in a hurry to get there. Seems rather practical, yes?”

John shook his head again, “No, not at all. What I am supposed to do when I get to London? Leave you there with your car and rent another to go see my sister? Better to rent one here.”

“I’ll go with you to Wales, obviously,” Sherlock affirmed, sounding quite serious.

John sighed, closing his eyes as his head started to spin again. He should go lie down for another hour or two, and try to sleep. Sherlock was right, he had one week before Harry’s birthday, and frankly, John dreaded to find himself alone again. If Sherlock wanted to drive all the way to Wales for no reason, that was his problem. “Fine.” He looked back at him, “When do you want to leave?”

Sherlock looked puzzled for a moment, “I need to take care of a few things first,” he replied, eyes searching John’s face. “Around 7 tonight?”

John nodded, “I’ll be ready.”

He stood up before Sherlock could say anything, heading directly for his bedroom and all but fell on his bed. He barely had the time to register his door being shut before he was drifting off again, trying to control the waves of nausea and thinking about the long trip waiting for him. Somewhere in between he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, John was waking up tangled in the covers. He blinked awake, his headache less painful and he even managed to sit up without running to the toilets. For a moment, John wondered what had happened exactly, where Mary was and why there were two packed bags by the door.

Then, he remembered Sherlock and the promise to be ready at 7 pm. Ready to travel across Scotland all the way to London. With a stranger. _Fuck_. John closed his eyes again, rubbing a hand over his face and letting a loud sigh. What had he been thinking. He needed to get things in order, to meet up with Mary and decide what they needed to do now. You don’t end a relationship of four years without talking about the consequences of the separation first.

Harry would understand if he didn’t make it to her birthday. She was much better after all and with Clara by her side, there was little chance that she would fall back into her old demons. He could always go and visit her as soon as he had taken care of everything here. _Yes_ , he thought. He’d tell Sherlock he couldn’t go when he came back and that was it.

“I take it you’re feeling better.”

John almost fell out of bed as Sherlock suddenly appeared in the doorframe, “What the fuck!”

“Much better indeed,” Sherlock continued, opening the door wider and stepping in.

“How long have you bee-”

“Just came in,” Sherlock cut in, offering a hand and helping him up. John let go as soon as he was up and sure he wasn’t going to fall over again.

“I didn’t even hear you come in,” he sighed, brushing off his jeans and shirt absently, trying to regain some composure, but Sherlock clearly didn’t seem to care about his less-than-gracious fall.

“I had the key,” Sherlock replied, eyes fixed on him, “And I can be very discreet.”

John stared, “Right.”

They remained silent for a moment, just staring at each other, and John felt as if Sherlock’s eyes were reading something all over his face. He was about to move, to speak, anything really, when Sherlock sighed, “You’re about to say you no longer need to go.”

John licked his lips, frowning, “How-”

“You’ve sobered up and realised that you were about to drive all over the country with a perfect stranger,” Sherlock started, talking way too fast for John to properly catch up, “which goes against everything you force yourself to respect, and therefore planned to tell me you had decided to stay here.”

“Force myself to respect what?” John asked, feeling his head starting to spin again, but not sure if it was because of the hangover any longer.

“You came to live here because your girlfriend wanted to,” Sherlock continued, still not looking away, and John felt his breath hitch. “She got a job offer she couldn’t refuse, and since you were unemployed, you followed her. You found a small, boring job here and thought you could be happy.” Sherlock stopped, eyes roaming over his body before moving back up. “You used to work out, a lot, and stopped entirely when you arrived here. Still, you continue to stand straight and don’t back off when you’re under stress. I’d say you were considering a career in the Army but got that taken from you when you moved here.”

“How-” John found himself asking again, only to be cut off by Sherlock once more.

“You crave a certain lifestyle, one your girlfriend offered at first because you were living in London, a city that offers challenge at every corner, but here,” Sherlock looked around the room, shaking his head, “Here, you all you ever felt was trapped.”

John remained speechless, not sure anything he could say would be coherent enough anyway, and Sherlock seemed to read his silent question as he smiled, “I observe, John.”

John felt his own lips stretch into a smile, “Observe?”

“The food in your fridge and cupboard indicates that you used to live with someone else. Some of the items stayed untouched until they were out of date, meaning you weren’t the one eating them. The person you used to live with left at least two weeks ago but it’s been official since yesterday, hence the trip to the Pub.”

John thought about the yogurt Mary always bought, tasting like the foulest thing John had ever tried, and made a mental note to throw them away. “You said I was feeling trapped here.”

“Of course you are,” Sherlock replied, “Just like I said you were forcing yourself to follow a lifestyle that isn’t yours. You need action, danger,” Sherlock smiled, “You need to feel like you’re contributing to something. Which explains the army doctor plans, really.”

“Right,” John said, suddenly aware of their close proximity. He took a careful step back, “And going on a road trip with a complete stranger is more the ‘real’ me?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied with such honesty that John let out a small laugh. “Besides, we’re not complete strangers anymore.”

“That was amazing,”John smiled.

Sherlock stared at him, frowning, “Really?”

“Yes, quite extraordinary,” John said in a breath, shaking his head, “Still, you _observed_ all of this about me, but that doesn’t mean I know a single thing about you.”

Sherlock remained silent for a second, “You know I have a working car that I’m willing to let you drive so you can attend your sister’s birthday. You know I haven’t taken advantage of your drunk state to rob or abuse you in any way.” John was about to say he had not even thought about that, but Sherlock was talking again before he could even open his mouth. “You know I can get you out of here and far away from this place, and you never have to come back again.”

John fell silent, eyes locked onto Sherlock’s, “Not complete strangers,” he repeated.

Sherlock smiled and John knew without a doubt he was going to follow this man out of the door, out of town, out of this hell.

 

* * * * *

 

John’s bags were packed in less than twenty minutes, and by the time he had thrown them in the trunk, Sherlock was already sitting in the passenger seat. John took a moment to look at the house one last time. He had lived there for two years, had built something between these walls, and somehow, he only felt an overwhelming relief at the thought of leaving it all behind. It wasn’t his home, had never been.

“John, we’re already breaking our schedule,” Sherlock called from the car, and John glanced at him. He was once more engrossed on his phone, the light reflecting against his face and for a moment, John just stared. “If we want to make it at least to the highway and find a bad and breakfast for the night, we need to leave now.”

John shook his head, inhaling deeply before sitting in the driver’s seat. “It’s a nice car,” he said as he buckled his seatbelt.

“If you say so,” Sherlock replied absently.

 _Alright_ , John thought, starting the car and pulling out on the road, “Let’s go, then.” The night was beginning to fall, and John tried to focus on the road as much as he could, but the constant typing coming from his right was increasingly distracting. “Someone’s worrying about you?” He tried, smiling, but earned another shake of Sherlock’s head. “No one is worrying about you at all?”

Sherlock looked up at him, “Why would someone worry about me?”

“I don’t know,” John shrugged, “I just assumed, since you’re alone and far from home, that maybe-”

“Try not to assume too much, John,” Sherlock cut in, “It doesn’t suit you.”

John frowned, “That was mean.”

Sherlock glanced at him, “Was it?”

John nodded, “Yep. I’m only trying to start a conversation here, but apparently small talk isn’t your thing.”

“Why would it be?” Sherlock asked, sounding much too serious for such a subject, “Small talk is boring and useless. You use small talk with people you don’t like, or don’t care enough about to actually care about what they are saying.”

John stared, and stared some more, before remembering he was supposed to drive, “That’s one way to see it,” he replied carefully, unable to repress a smile.

“We’re going to spend rather a lot of time together,” Sherlock continued, “If you have questions, ask them.”

John glanced back at him, still smiling, “Alright, no parents worrying about you?” Sherlock shook his head. “Siblings?” Sherlock stared in horror at him and John repressed a laugh. “Alright, girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend, not my area,” Sherlock replied absently.

“Oh sorry,” John replied quickly, “Boyfriend then?”

“I told you,” Sherlock replied, shaking his head and looking at the window, “Why would anyone worry about me?”

John bit his lower lip, dozens of questions on the tip of his tongue, but he remained silent. It seemed that Sherlock wasn’t going to ask questions of his own, and John remembered all the things he had observed not an hour ago and realised Sherlock must already know all there was to know about him anyway. He focused on the road, navigating through traffic slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had planned such a trip, or even the last time he had driven that long. Usually, Mary would drive, taking them from place to place and letting John take the wheel when she was too tired. It wasn’t that John liked driving, but when trapped in a car, he liked to have something to focus on. Sighing, he thought of Mary, probably waiting for a call or an apology.

“We didn’t take anything to eat,” he said, breaking the silence and he swore he saw Sherlock jump slightly in his seat. “For the road, I mean.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock replied, turning to look at him.

“Not yet, but we will be at some point,” John smiled, “Thirsty even.”

“I guess,” Sherlock said.

“I’m telling you,” John replied, “I hope we find a place to eat or something when we reach the highway, or else we’ll have to wait until the first bed and breakfast.” Sherlock hummed, fingers playing with his phone but didn’t turn it on. John smiled softly, hoping Sherlock wouldn't the kind of passenger that prefers to play on his phone than talk the whole trip. “You didn’t say why you were going to London.”

“You’re right,” Sherlock replied, and John let out a small laugh.

“You’re really not a talker!”

Sherlock glanced at him, the beginning of a smile on his lips, “Work, I’m going to London for work.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” John said, laughing again as Sherlock rolled his eyes. “What kind of work?”

“I help the police,” Sherlock replied, looking back at the road.

“Aren’t you too young to work for the police?” John remarked.

Sherlock turned back toward him, “I’m only two years younger than you, and perfectly able to assist the police given the fact that they are completely useless otherwise.”

John laughed again, “How can you possibly know my age? You can’t guess someone’s age and be one hundred percent certain of it.”

“You’re twenty-three years old,” Sherlock asserted.

“Okay,” John said in a breath, “That’s impressive.”

“I read it on your driver’s licence,” Sherlock said after a moment and John burst out  laughing again.

He caught Sherlock smiling too, and John inhaled deeply, taking catching his breath, “I could have sworn you were still in University or something, but not working.”

Sherlock’s smile widened as he replied, “I do believe there is my name on some University record somewhere, but I have no idea which one.”

“You’ve registered for University and don’t know where?” John asked, surprised to find out just how interesting Sherlock seemed to be as time went by.

“Why should I care? It’s unlikely any teacher will be interesting enough for me to follow his or her class, so better to not waste my time or theirs.”

“Right, how nice of you,” John joked and earned another smile from Sherlock. “What were you supposed to study?”

“Chemistry.”

John sighed, letting the subject drop, and let silence fell back upon them. It wasn’t as if it was an uncomfortable silence after all, and John quite liked the faint sound of the traffic around them. It was reassuring somehow, just as Sherlock’s quiet breathing next to him. A reminder that he wasn’t alone. An entire hour passed before John noticed the first sign for the highway, about the time his stomach showed the first sign of hunger. He glanced at Sherlock, thinking for a moment he must have fallen asleep, but he found him staring straight ahead at the road.

“Do you mind if I play some music,” John asked after a moment, Sherlock only shook his head, and he put on the radio. He searched for a station quickly and settled for a soft rock song. He kept the volume low, and tapped his fingers against the wheel in rhythm. “Music?”

Sherlock glanced at him, “What about it?”

“Something you enjoy?” John asked, humming as the song switched to one he actually knew.

“I prefer classical music,” Sherlock said, and it felt like a small victory.

“I can look for a classical station if you want,” John offered, but Sherlock shook his head. “You tell me.”

Another two songs passed before Sherlock spoke again, “I play the violin.”

John looked at him, “Really?”

Sherlock nodded, “Since I was five.”

“That’s awesome,” John smiled, “I wished I had learned to play some instrument when I was younger.”

“You have calloused hands,” Sherlock remarked, eyes now fixed on John’s hands on the wheel. “You could have easily played a string instrument.”

John looked down at his own hand, “Never too late to learn, right?” He asked, catching Sherlock’s eyes before he turned to look at the window again.

_What am I talking about? I sound like a bloody idiot._

It took another twenty minutes before John was able to find a place to eat. Sherlock didn’t complain when he suggested they stop now so they could actually plan their trip while eating, and they were quickly seated and served. John ate slowly, watching as Sherlock seemed to pick more at his food than actually eat it, and he asked with a frown, “Not hungry?”

“I ate yesterday,” Sherlock sighed, “And had some toast this morning.”

John stared, “So, not hungry?”

“My body doesn’t require much food to properly function, John.”

For a second John remained frozen before laughing, “You are quite a puzzle, you know.”

Sherlock almost beamed as he said, “Thank you”, and John laughed again.

John finished his plate in silence, watching Sherlock who was too busy watching the people around them, and averted his eyes quickly when Sherlock focused back on him. He pushed his plate away, clearing his throat before saying, “Ok, how do we plan this trip?”

Sherlock leaned on the table, “We drive to London.”

“I got that, yes,” John smiled. “I meant money, food, sleeping, gas…”

“I’ll pay for all of that,” Sherlock replied.

“You don’t have to pay for all o-”

“I’ll pay, John,” Sherlock cut in. “You drive, and I pay.”

John frowned, “Are you rich or something?”

Sherlock smiled at him, “Or something.”

John shook his head, “I can’t let you pay for everything, Sherlock.”

“I’ve already paid for this dinner,” Sherlock replied, “And I will continue to pay for the rest. I have the money, John.”

John dropped the subject, making a mental note to pay for the next dinner they stopped for before Sherlock could. He grabbed the map he had brought from the car and opened it on the table, “Alright, we don’t have a long drive to London really.”

“I estimate our trip to last two days at most,” Sherlock said, leaning closer, “Since you’re the only one driving, you’ll be needing breaks often, and we should avoid driving at night.”

“You’re right,” John said, looking more closely at the map. “We have the time anyway. How long do you need to stay in London?”

“One day should be enough,” Sherlock replied, picking up one of his fries and actually eating it. “We can stay at my flat for the night and leave in the morning. It should leave us plenty of time to drive to Wales.”

John leant back against his chair, “You really don’t have to come with me to Wales. I can rent a car from London.”

Sherlock looked up at him, “If you had to rent a car, you would have done it in Scotland. I’ve said you could keep my car, I meant it.”

John nodded, making sure to remind Sherlock once more about this possibility once they were in London. He stared at the map. “Alright. I’ve slept all day today, so what about I drive as far as I can manage for tonight?”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes, perfect.”

John watched for a moment as Sherlock finally seemed to be hungry, and lost himself in his thoughts again. Harry used to love old restaurants like this one, with barely a client or just regulars. Their father used to drive them to a new one each month, until he simply stopped. Once, John had surprised Harry for her birthday, taking her to her favorite one, but she had already been drunk when they had left the house, and really, John would rather forget about that day entirely. Closing his eyes for a second, he let out a deep sigh.

“Your sister,” came Sherlock’s voice, forcing John back to earth.

“Sorry?”

“You were thinking about your sister,” Sherlock said, eyes fixed on him.

“I’m not going to ask how you knew that,” John smiled, “But yes. I worry about her.”

“She used to be a drinker,” Sherlock said, not really a question, and John simply nodded. “She’s better now,” Sherlock added.

“Yes,” John breathed out, “Much better.”

Sherlock stared for a second longer before standing up, “We should get back on the road.”

John shook his head, stretching as he stood up, “Yes, right, let’s go since you’ve already paid!”

Sherlock was the one to turn on the radio when they got back into the car, and John let him search for a song to listen to until he settled for something calm and strangely relaxing. Sherlock immediately settled back against his seat, looking at the landscape through his window and John bit back some more questions. He’d have an entire week to get to know this strange man, and John really didn’t need to scare him away after just three hours of sharing a car.

Still, almost two hours later, John couldn’t help but ask with a smile, “You do know it’s summer, right?”

Sherlock turned to look at him, “Summer?”

“Yes,” John continued to smile, “The season where it gets hot, even in England, sunshine, sea, blue sk-”

“I know what summer is, John,” Sherlock cut him off with a sigh, but a smile too.

“Okay,” John said, glancing at him, “Why the scarf and coat then?”

Sherlock looked down at himself, “I-” he began but stopped, and John marvelled at a speechless Sherlock for a second. “I’m used to wearing them.”

“No matter the season?” John genuinely asked.

“I like wearing them,” Sherlock replied, looking at John almost as if he was daring him to say something about it.

John smiled, dropping the matter, and definitely not saying how the blue of the scarf reminded him of Sherlock’s eyes. He tried to focus on the song, humming softly as another silence settled between them. Sherlock had picked back up his phone, and was typing rather quickly. John thought about his work, _helping the police_ , and if he could understand how his observations could be useful, he had trouble picturing Sherlock behind a desk surrounded by cops. _He never said he was a cop_ , he realised, and the mystery around his drivemate became just a tiniest bit thicker.

In the end, John stopped at the first bed and breakfast he saw. Despite having spent the day in bed, he felt as if his hangover was starting all over again. The moment he exited the highway, Sherlock was putting his phone away and focusing back on him, “Stopping already?”

“Yeah,” John yawned, the prospect a bed rather appealing now, “You said it, we have time anyway.”

Sherlock nodded, getting out of the car as soon as John had parked and lighting a cigarette.

“I’ll go check us in,” he said and Sherlock handed him some cash, “Sherlock, I-”

“I pay,” Sherlock said, breathing out slowly. John sighed, taking the money. “I’ll know if you didn’t use it,” Sherlock called as he made his way toward the bed and breakfast doors.

He booked them a double room for the night before going back to get his bag. Sherlock was just finishing his smoke, staring up at the sky, “You like astronomy?”

“Not particularly,” Sherlock replied, still looking up before throwing his cigarette in the trash. “Which room?”

“34, two single beds,” John replied, making sure to lock their car before heading back inside. “This way,” he told Sherlock and they both made their way to the room. “I’ll take the first shower, if you don’t mind.”

Sherlock shook his head, putting his bag on the floor and sitting on his bed, “Go ahead.”

John didn’t linger in the shower, just enough time to let the hot water relax his tensed muscles. He wasn’t used to bed and breakfast, or even sharing a room with a stranger, but somehow, he couldn’t help but get just a little bit excited at the thought. It was an adventure of some kind, after all, and he couldn’t imagine Sherlock murdering him during his sleep. Or anything else, really.

“Shower’s free,” he smiled when he came out of the bathroom, already dressed for the night, and Sherlock went in without a word.

John settled in bed before checking his phone. Five missed calls, three from Mary, the other two from friends. He decided on only replying to the texts tonight, and quickly reassured Harry about his well being. She replied immediately, asking where he was, and John typed a quick _On the road!_ Without mentioning Sherlock. There was no point of doing so yet. She would only worry and ask too many questions, and John just wanted to sleep. Putting his phone away, he slid under the covers and let out a content sigh. The bed was still cold, but quite firm and he could already feel himself relax.

He closed his eyes, listening to the shower running in the other room and the occasional car passing by. Unable to repress a small laugh, John thought about the night he had just twenty-four hours ago now, getting drunk over a break up he didn’t even care about, and now here he was, sharing a room with the man who had brought him home. It wasn’t that Sherlock was strange, not at all in fact. He was, well, interesting. His observations were amazing, beyond anything John would ever understand, and if the man didn’t seem to talk much, the few words he had actually shared during their trip had been fascinating.

John had suspected Sherlock was younger than him, but his constant neutral expression only made him look older. Maybe that was the entire point, John thought, and his smile widened. He liked Sherlock.

“Can I turn off the lights?” Sherlock asked, interrupting John’s thoughts.

“Yes, sure,” John replied quickly, unable to stop himself from detailing Sherlock’s nightclothes, loose shirt and pants.

The room went dark and John listened as Sherlock settled in for bed too. Silence filled the room, expect for both of their breathing, and John focused on that for a moment. He felt suddenly less tired, and questions were running inside his head again. He knew he still had time to learn more about Sherlock, but with just two of them like this in the dark, it all felt much more intimate all the sudden.

“Just ask, John,” Sherlock said, startling him.

John smiled, “How could you tell I was thinking about asking you anything at all?”

“Your breathing changed about five seconds ago, getting less regular, more troubled,” Sherlock explained.

“That is truly amazing, you know,” John breathed out.

“You said that already, yes.”

“Sorry,” John said, licking his lips, “I’ll stop.”

“No,” Sherlock replied, “it’s fine.”

John smiled, resisting the urge to roll to his side so he could see Sherlock more closely, “Can I really ask?”

“I told you to.”

John decided on one question and only one for tonight, “When did you start observing people like you did with me?”

He heard Sherlock shift on his bed, and John turned his head, finding Sherlock staring back at him. “That’s your question?” John nodded. Sherlock stared at him for another second before saying, “I don’t really remember. When I was kid I used to observe people around me all the time, even my teachers. It often didn’t end well.”

John laughed softly, “I can imagine that, yes.”

“At first it was only a way to pass time, to keep myself busy, and in a way, I couldn’t help myself from seeing everything.” Sherlock stopped, his voice barely a whisper now in the quiet room. “My parents didn’t mind much, I think.” He fell silent, and John closed his eyes. He was starting to drift off when Sherlock spoke again, “I call them deductions.”

“Nice,” John replied in a breath, smiling. “Good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night, John,” came Sherlock’s voice.

Strangely, John fell asleep within minutes.


	2. Day Two

John woke to the sound of Sherlock’s voice talking over the phone, too fast for him in that hour of the morning, and when John caught the word “blood”, he decided that he really should fall back asleep.

“Oh you’re awake,” Sherlock said, stopping in the middle of a sentence, “Good, we need breakfast.”

John rolled to his front, “Go get your own breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock pointed out, “You are.”

John sighed, refusing to move yet, but already felt his lips stretched into a smile. He listened for a few more minutes to Sherlock talking about what seemed to be a murder and tried to guess who could be on the other line. Most likely a cop, surely no one else was interested in such details about the body.

“John,” Sherlock called again.

“Hmmm.”

“Breakfast,” he reminded him, and John all but threw the covers on the floor.

“I hate you,” he groaned, getting up and heading for the bathroom, Sherlock already talking on the phone again.

He used the toilet first, before getting changed quickly. Sherlock was right, of course, they couldn’t linger in bed all morning. It was already late, later than John had thought, and they needed to check out in less than a hour. Just enough time for breakfast actually. John sighed, splashing some water on his face before going back to the room. Sherlock had hung up and was busy going through his bag.

“Sure you don’t want anything?” John asked, grabbing his wallet.

“Coffee,” Sherlock replied absently and stood up before John could open the door, giving him cash and a pointed look.

“Fine, fine,” John sighed, “I’ll use your money.”

Sherlock let him go with a nod and John hurried to cross the few hallways separating them from the lobby. He didn’t linger there either, grabbing Sherlock’s coffee and pouring himself one too before getting some biscuits. That should do it.  Sherlock was smoking outside the room when he came back.  “That was fast,” he said, glancing at John.

John shrugged, handing him his coffee before sipping his own, “Grabbed you some biscuits too.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and ignored the biscuits entirely. They drank in silence, both of them remaining outside and observing the view. From here, they had a perfect view of the forest behind the bed and breakfast, and John breathed in deeply. He had almost forgotten how much he liked discovering new places. He glanced at Sherlock, wearing yet another perfect suit, and smiled. Surely he wasn’t the type to go hiking, and John repressed a laugh as he tried to imagine him lost in the middle of some forest. Sherlock’s eyes found his, and John quickly looked away.

“We should go,” Sherlock said, and John nodded immediately.

“Yes, sure.”

Sherlock was still watching him, “Then you should go pack, yes?”

John finished his coffee quickly, “Yep!” and headed back inside the room. Sherlock’s bag was by the door, perfectly packed and his phone was resting on top of it. John peered at it, the screen lighting up with a new message and he only had the time to catch the name _Lestrade_ before he heard Sherlock come in. He pretended to be busy picking up his clothes before putting them in his bag quickly. “I’ll be ready in a sec’,” he said, heading for the bathroom.

“I think we should stop for gas as soon as we can,” Sherlock called from the room.

“Yeah, I noticed we were getting low yesterday,” John replied, picking up his toothbrush and towel, “I’m sure someone at the lobby can tell us where the nearest station is.”

“Already asked,” Sherlock said.

John went back to the room, “Of course you did,” he smiled, leaning against the door frame, eyes fixed on Sherlock. He was putting on his scarf and coat, not looking at him, and John found himself staring much more closely than he should. If he had noticed the sharp cheekbones yesterday, now it seemed he couldn’t look away. He wondered of they were as sharp to touch as they looked, if he could trace a line from Sherlock’s lips to his eyes and make him shiver.

“John?”

John looked away, cursing himself, “Yeah, ready.” He could still feel Sherlock’s eyes on him as he went for his bag and threw his stuff inside. He put on his own jacket, the weather still brisk at this hour of the morning, and picked up his back, “Let’s go.”

Sherlock stared, nodded and opened the door. John allowed himself a moment to breath out slowly, eyes closed, before following him. John took his place behind the wheel while Sherlock settled next to him, letting out sigh before taking out his phone, “The gas station is near,” he said, already typing something.

John left the car park, heading back toward the highway and glanced one more time at Sherlock, “What is it you’re always doing on that phone?”

Sherlock looked up at him, “What does one usually do on his phone, John?”

John rolled his eyes, “You’re really bad at answering questions, you know.”

“I’ve answered your question yesterday,” Sherlock pointed out, and at least it got him to put his phone back inside his pocket.

“True,” John admitted, noticing the first sign indicating a gas station. “But isn’t a bit unfair that you’re able to read the answer to your questions on me, and I can’t even get an answer to a simple question?”

“A boring question,” Sherlock corrected him, and John let out a small laugh. “If you were asking good questions, I would be answering.”

“Really?” John asked, looking at him, and Sherlock nodded. “Okay, then let’s play a game.” He saw Sherlock roll his eyes, “No wait, listen,” John said quickly, “We each ask three questions, anything we want to know, and the other has to tell the truth.”

“That’s not really a game, John, nobody wins anything in the end,” Sherlock remarked.

“We win by knowing more about each other!”

Sherlock smiled, shaking his head, before breathing out a soft, “Fine.”

“I start,” John said, “and remember, you have to tell the truth.” Sherlock nodded, watching him expectantly. “Alright, first question,” he thought for a moment, before smiling, “Why does Lestrade keep texting you?”

Sherlock frowned, “You’ve looked at my phone?”

John shrugged, “You received a text and I happened to pass by at that time,” he said, not quite a lie. “And that isn’t an answer.”

Sherlock looked back at the road, remaining silent for a moment before finally saying, “He’s a DI at Scotland Yard. I happened to stumble upon one of his crime scenes two years ago, and managed to solve the crime just by looking at the body. He was, I’d say,” Sherlock stopped for a second, “impressed by my deductions and said it could be an useful trick. I, of course, explained him it wasn’t a trick at all and by the time he let me go, I had given him my number in case he might need more help.”

“That’s why you said you were helping the police,” John remarked.

Sherlock nodded, “That’s why I decided to invent my own job,” he continued, “as a consulting detective. I have no attachment to the Yard, but I still get to investigate from time to time.”

“But they can’t pay you,” John said, frowning.

“I don’t need the money,” Sherlock replied absently. “Have I answered your question?”

John smiled, nodding, “Yep, your turn now.”

Sherlock looked back at him, “Why did you stay in Scotland if you hated it?”

John, somehow, wasn’t surprised at all by the very intimate turn of the question. He had expected something deep since Sherlock had already deduced so much about him, but he still took the time to breathe deeply before answering. “You said it yourself, Mary had been asked to come work there, and at that time I was still in love with her. She asked me to come, and I did without thinking twice about it.” He stopped, staring at the road. It was funny, thinking about that time, remembering Mary’s smile when he had agreed and the days atter that, packing and traveling together. “It was good, at first. She worked and I looked for a job myself, and for a time, we settled into something comfortable enough.”

Sherlock was still staring at him, not saying a word, and John shifted on his seat. It felt strange, talking about it in the past. He had thought Mary would the one, the person he would marry, start a family with, and yet, here he was.

John sighed, glancing at Sherlock and shrugging, “I guess you were right, I tried to repress my needs and wants for her, and thought it could work. I always wanted to be a doctor and the army program was quite appealing, but it was against everything my parents or even Mary had planned for me, so-” John shut his mouth, realising what he was saying. He had lived four years a life he never wanted and had been willing to go on like this for the rest of his life. “Fuck, I can’t believe I stayed that long with her. I don’t even know why I stayed, in the end. To please her? Because it was reassuring to have someone? I don’t fucking know.”

He let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head and feeling a knot form inside his chest. He was being ridiculous,” Sorry, I-”

“Time for your next question,” Sherlock interrupted him, changing the subject entirely, and John silently thanked him.

Already knowing what he wanted to ask, John said quickly, “The money, where did you get it?”

Sherlock smiled at him, a knowing smile that clearly said he knew this question would come up, “My family has a lot of money,” he started to explain, “My parents are writers and they made a name of themselves with the years. They put most of the money in the bank, for my brother and I.”

“You said you weren’t rich yesterday,” John pointed out.

“I’m not,” Sherlock corrected him, “They are.”

“But you use their money, so it technically yours, yeah?”

Sherlock looked back at the road, “I only use the money when I have no other choice,” he explained, “And since I was, hmm, away for the past few months, far from home, I had little choice but to use the money to go back to London.”

“So you just went from pub to pub until you found a guy drunk enough to agree to drive you back to London,” John joked, not liking the way Sherlock had seemed to close off after that last explanation.

“Well, I found you in the first Pub, so…”

John burst into laughter, quickly joined by Sherlock, and he realised that was the first time he heard him laugh. It was a nice sound, John thought, and hoped he’d get to hear it more often during the rest of their trip.

“Okay,” he said, still smiling, “that answered my question. Your turn!”

Sherlock glanced at him, teeth biting his lower lip, “I have a few theories, but I can’t be sure, so,” he stopped, almost as if he wasn’t sure he could ask his next question, but carried on anyway, “Why did Mary leave?”

John rubbed a hand against his the back of his neck, “I don’t know if you could say she left, more like I pushed her away.” Sherlock frowned, and John let out another nervous laugh. “I was thinking about proposing,” he confessed, “went to some jewellery stores, looked at some rings, but I wanted to be completely honest with the woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with, so I told her something not many people know.” He stopped, fingers tightening around the wheel, “I told myself I could trust her, that it wouldn’t be a huge deal since we were in love and all that, but I was clearly wrong.”

He turned to look at Sherlock again, reading the obvious question on his face, and John realised he had no reason not to tell him. No reason not to tell to a stranger what had taken him four years to tell the woman he lived with.

“I’m bisexual,” he said quickly, looking away. “I realised it when I was fourteen and it scared the shit out of me. With my-” He stopped, shaking his head. “It was just scary, and I kept it myself. Meet a few guys, a few girls, had fun and then met Mary. I loved her, trusted her, and thought she deserved to know all about me, my little secret, but she- Well, she left.”

Silence fell upon them, and John forced himself to keep his eyes on the road.

“Can I ask my next question now?” Sherlock suddenly asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Why were you scared?”

John sighed, “I watched my sister come out to my parents,” he started, “I watched as they refused to believe their daughter could be gay, tried to cure her, to stop her from going out, from meeting her girlfriends. I watched as she started drinking and fell into a endless spiral.” he shook his head, “Keeping this to myself seemed like the best way to protect myself from all that.”

Silence, again, and John allowed himself to look back at Sherlock. He wasn’t looking at him anymore, eyes fixed on his lap, and for a moment John was certain he was about to say something, but they both remained silent for another minute or two. The gas station finally appeared and John exited the road.

“Final question,” he said, desperate to break the silence. Sherlock straightened up, nodding. “Why were you in Scotland?”

“Rehab,” Sherlock replied just as they parked at the gas station. He looked at John, “I’ll go and pay for the gas,” and then was out of the car.

John remained frozen on his seat for long seconds, staring at Sherlock’s figure walking away and disappearing inside the shop, before he remembered to blink. _Rehab_ . Never, god, never would John have even imagined Sherlock being an addict, _ex-addict_. Sure, there was the smoking, but it was just cigarettes, nothing more. Forcing himself out of his head, John got out and started to refuel the car. Sherlock didn’t reappear until John was sitting back inside the car, and then he simply opened the passenger door and handed him a bag of crisps, “In case you get hungry.”

John took it without a word.

“I haven’t used for the past six months,” Sherlock said. “It’s the third time I went to a rehab center, first time this far from home.” He turned to look at him. “I haven’t felt the need to find drugs since I got out, in case you were wondering. I tend to relapse within the first five days. It’s been four.”

“I’ll notice if you-”

“I know,” Sherlock cut him off.

“I can’t do this tri-”

“I know.”

John gave a sharp nod, breathing in deeply before starting the car, “In that case, let’s go.”

John stopped for lunch three hours later, still surprised by how much Sherlock had seemed to relax ever since the gas station. He was starting to suspect Sherlock had been gauging  his reaction since the very beginning, and somehow, John had passed the test. Still, he wasn’t going to complain. In the three hours it had taken them to get to this restaurant, Sherlock had complained about his brother half the time, spending the other half talking about the patients from the rehab center. John was certain he had spent the entire time laughing.

The rastaurant was full and John hurried to save them a table as Sherlock smoked outside. He pulled out his phone, checking his texts in case Harry had sent one, but found only six new ones from Mary.

_Where are you?_

_I came by the house, you weren’t there._

_Are you drunk somewhere?_

_John, answer me!_

_We need to talk, you can’t just ignore me._

_John!_

He deleted them all, doing the same with his new voice messages, and put his phone away. Tomorrow, he would call her tomorrow.

“You didn’t order,” Sherlock remarked when he sat down.

“I was waiting for you,” John replied, “You’ve barely eaten since we left.”

“I’ve explained to you before, my body-”

“Yes, yes,” John cut him off, “I remember, but you’re eating lunch today, and that’s not an option.”

Sherlock stared at him, a small smile on his lips, before nodding. John looked away, waving for a waitress and they both ordered a quick lunch. After several pointed looks, Sherlock agreed to eat, picking at his food slowly, but John made sure half the plate was empty before he let him put it aside.

“The woman behind you is cheating on her husband,” Sherlock said, leaning closer over the table as John looked behind him. “She’s been having affairs for the past twenty years at least and managed to keep it a secret from her entire family.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“She’s with her lover right now,” Sherlock replied quickly, “She’s wearing a ring but he’s not, and yet they show all the signs of a happy couple. She’s been looking around her ever since they got here, always unconsciously which can only mean she’s used to being vigilant. Plus, there’s the fact that she has two phones on the table, and is ignoring one entirely, hence, the one she uses for her lover.”

“Brilliant,” John breathed out, looking behind him once more and only seeing a woman smiling lovingly at the man in front of her. Yet, Sherlock saw something else entirely. “Absolutely brilliant.”

Sherlock looked puzzled for a second, before muttering a quiet, “Obvious.”

“Not to me,” John said with a smile, Sherlock looked back at him and John found himself unable to look away. He wasn’t sure how long they stared at each other before he cleared his throat, looking away. “Anyone else interesting?”

Sherlock took a look around them and John watched, speechless as he started to deduce one’s man addiction to pills before jumping to a woman who seemed to be about to get engaged to her step-brother without knowing it, and then a kid who had been stealing money from his parents for years, and then finally a couple who filmed themselves while having intercourse and being were very famous. Everything, with just _one_ look, and John could have listened to Sherlock’s voice all day.

“I can see why this Lestrade is always texting you,” John said, almost out of breath.

Sherlock gave him a small nod, drinking from his glass and John clasped both hands on the table. He wanted to ask more, to tell Sherlock _what about me? What can you tell about me?_ but kept his mouth shut. Sherlock had already deduced far too much, and with John’s confession earlier, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Sherlock had further deduced about his past.

“I’ll go pay,” Sherlock said after a while, standing up, “Do you want anything else?”

“I’m good,” John replied, smiling, and watched as Sherlock walked to the counter.

He couldn’t help himself, really. Sherlock was handsome, _no_ , he was beautiful. There was something in the way he stood, in the way he sometimes looked at John, with genuine, barely hidden, surprise in his eyes that made John want to touch, to taste. It was ridiculous, and rather dangerous too. They had met not two days ago, and were about to spend the next five days together, and if there was one thing John didn’t want, it was to ruin everything with a simple attraction.

Still, it didn’t meant he couldn’t stare.

He felt Sherlock’s gaze on him and quickly looked up to his face, finding Sherlock gesturing at him to come, and John quickly stood up. “What is it?” He asked when he joined him.

“We can go,” Sherlock said, watching closely, and John hoped he wasn’t blushing like a bloody teenager.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat, “Let’s go.”

They made their way back to car without exchanging a word, and John let out a relieved sigh as he sat down. Sherlock was finishing his cigarette by the car, leaving a rather pleasing sight for John’s eyes, but John forced himself really hard not to stare. There were limits after all to his control over his own body.

“I saw an advertisement for a bad and breakfast at the restaurant,” Sherlock said when he got inside, buckling his seatbelt, “Should be on our way and just far enough for us to stay the night in.”

“Sounds perfect,” John smiled, starting the car and exiting the car park.

He turned on the music immediately, humming to one of the songs, and swore he heard Sherlock join him once or twice, even if he denied it entirely when John called him on it. John hadn’t expected to feel that comfortable during this trip, driving across the country with a complete stranger. Sherlock was strange, and most of the time, surprising, but John liked it. He really, really, did.

“You realise you’re smiling for no reason,” came Sherlock’s voice next to him.

John’s smile widened, gazing at him, “You have something against people who smile?”

“When there is absolutely no reason why, yes,” Sherlock replied honestly.

John let out a small laugh, “Who says I haven’t got a reason?”

Sherlock looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face and for a moment John feared he would actually be able to read his thoughts. He shook his head, feeling something warm build inside his chest, “You’re unbelievable you know,” John said. “And I should let you know that you’re smiling right now too.”

“I am not,” Sherlock protested, his lips stretching in a obvious grin. John cast him a pointed look and Sherlock sighed, “Fine, but I have a reason.”

John laughed again, “And what reason would that be?”

Sherlock didn’t reply, keeping his eyes fixed on him, and all of the sudden John felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He dared to stare back for a second more before focusing back on the road. Clearly, they couldn’t both stare. Trying desperately to calm his pounding heart, John turned up the volume, pretending to like the song playing and let out a quiet sigh when Sherlock looked back down at his phone.

Another hour passed and John realised Sherlock did actually like to talk, rather a lot, and he listened, captivated, to him explaining the many experiments he had conducted as a child. It was something to say how impressed John found himself, not quite believing how a seven year old could study the decomposition of human skin and actually like it. Of course, Sherlock had thrown in some deductions here and there about John’s own childhood, and John had replied with a surprising honesty.

They were just talking about John’s desire to study medicine when he noticed a sign by the road. _The most impressive panoramic view you’ll ever experience_ , it read, and John, without thinking twice about it, exited the highway.

“John, what are you doing?”

“I want to see,” John replied, smiling.

“See what?” Sherlock asked, looking around.

“The most impressive panoramic view you’ll ever experience,” he replied, loving the way Sherlock seemed to think he had gone insane.

“You’re not making any sense, John.”

John rolled his eyes, turning left and parking the car, “Look,” he said, pointing at another sign just in front of them.

“You want to go sight seeing?” Sherlock asked, starting at the sign.

“Why not,” John shrugged, “Could be fun.”

“I fail to see how it could be,” Sherlock pointed out, “besides, we are on a schedule.”

“No, we’re not,” John replied, “You said it yourself.”

He got out of the car before Sherlock could say anything else, and laughed when he heard the passenger door open. He went to read the instructions on the sign, waiting for Sherlock to join him. They remained side by side for long seconds, not talking, and John seriously doubted Sherlock was reading any of what was written. He gazed at him, nudging their shoulders together, “Fun, yeah?”

Sherlock faced him, a blank expression on his face, “No.”

“Oh come on,” John exclaimed, taking the path to the view. “Indulge me.”

Sherlock followed without a word through the woods, and John caught him once or twice almost falling. Still, Sherlock didn’t complain, and by the time they reached the end of the path, Sherlock was walking right next to him.

“Should be right here,” John said, ducking his head under a branch, and straightening up again only to feel his breath catch.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed frozen like this, staring at the breathtaking view in front of them, but John could have stayed there for hours. He forced himself to detach his eyes from it, glancing at Sherlock instead, “Thank you,” he whispered, almost too afraid to break the silence.

Sherlock turned toward him, eyes finding his, but remained silent.

“Thank you,” John said again, “for doing this.”

Sherlock gave a small nod, not saying a word. In this very moment, staring at each other with unspoken thoughts hanging in the air, John realised he could have kissed him.

 

* * * * *

 

The bed and breakfast Sherlock had mentioned was much smaller than John had thought it would be. They booked the last double room available, and John let Sherlock pay once more. They had barely talked since their improvised stop, and John had been trying really hard not to stare at Sherlock’s lips ever since. It wasn’t a surprise per se. That first morning in Scotland, John had found him breathtaking, so really, finding out he wanted to kiss the man seemed perfectly natural.

Sherlock had been the one to suggest they should eat, and John hadn’t missed the opportunity to tease him about the need of his  so called transport. “Everyone needs to eat at some point,” Sherlock had pointed out before leaving the room.

They were now sitting at their table, John trying to explain that the solar system was actually something you wanted to know about, while Sherlock continued to deny it entirely. It would have been funny, John thought, if it wasn’t so frustrating.

“You can’t possibly mean that,” John sighed, taking a sip of his water. “Knowing the earth goes around the sun and not the opposite is basic knowledge, Sherlock.”

“And why would I ca-”

John frowned, “Sherlock?”

Sherlock was looking directly above his right shoulder, mouth still hanging open and eyes fixed on something. John began to turn around when he felt Sherlock’s hand on his on the table, “No, don’t look.”

John sat back against against his chair, “What is it?”

“The man sitting two tables behind you is going to kill his wife and her lover,” Sherlock replied as if it was the most natural thing to do right now.

“He’s going to what?!”

“Shhh,” Sherlock hissed, removing his hand only to lean over the table, “He followed his wife all the way here, and is now planning to kill her.”

John resisted the urge to turn around, “She’s here with her lover?”

Sherlock nodded, “She’s sitting at the far end of the room, her back turned to him.”

“God, Sherlock, we have to-”

Sherlock looked back at him, grinning, “I know.”

John smiled, “You’re enjoying this?”

“What are the odds we’d run into a murderer during our trip, John?” Sherlock asked, hand digging into his pocket to get his phone.

“Should we call the police?” John asked.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Sherlock replied, raising his phone in the air. “Do not move.”

He snapped three pictures before setting it back on the table.

“What are we going to do?”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, “Stop him, obviously.”

John stared and stared and smiled, “Obviously.”

Sherlock pushed his plate away, fingers now tapping on the table, “We can’t let him out of our sight.”

“Right,” John replied, his every sense already on alert. “Is he armed?”

“Knife,” Sherlock replied, “hidden under his jacket. It’s a crime of passion, he has never done it before. I can see him sweating from here, just watching his wife dine with someone else is making him insane with anger.”

“But he’s not going to kill them here,” John remarked, “It would be stupid.”

Sherlock hummed, “You’re right, he must be waiting for them to go back to their room.”

“And so will we,” John asserted.

Sherlock glanced at him again, “Yes.”

The next twenty minutes were the longest of John’s life, and by the time their murderer got up, they were following him closely. The wife was laughing, rather loudly, and even John could see the murderer’s hand clenched by his side in anger. _This is bloody dangerous_ , John thought but increased his pace as they turned down a corridor. Sherlock was buzzing with anticipation, and John couldn’t help but smile again. This was Sherlock element, right there.

“Stop,” Sherlock whispered, blocking him against a wall. “The couple just entered their room.”

John peeked past Sherlock, “Where is our man?”

“Standing three doors away,” Sherlock replied, “We have to wait until he takes out his knife before apprehending him. He’ll deny everything otherwise.”

“We’re the only witnesses, Sherlock, the police better believe u-”

Sherlock was suddenly running, “He saw us! Quickly, John!”

John was following immediately, soon catching up to Sherlock and passing him by, their murderer right in front of him. Increasing his pace, John almost fell as they turned down another hallway. Cursing, he steadied himself before going after the man again. He was getting closer now, and thinking quickly, John threw himself at him just before he could disappear down another hallway.

“Let go of me!” The man yelled as John tackled him to the ground, securing both arms and legs with his own. “Let go of me!”

“Don’t move,” John groaned. The man continued to struggle beneath him, and John shoved him back against the floor. “I said, don’t move!”

“You’re hurting me,” the man yelled back.

“I don’t fucking care,” John hissed, finally managing to lock both of the man’s hands behind his back. Only when he heard Sherlock’s voice next to him did John remember he was there.

“The Station Bed and breakfast, hurry,” Sherlock was saying over the phone, probably to the police, before hanging up.

“They’re coming?” John asked, out of breath.

Sherlock nodded, looking down at the both of them, “We need to get him to the lobby.”

John looked back at the man, now sobbing, “You won’t do anything, stupid, right?”

The man shook his head, “I just wanted to make her pay, to hurt her like she hurt me.”

“Save it for the police,” John groaned, heart still pounding with adrenaline and his anger not completely dissipated. “Up you go!”

Sherlock was silent, eyes still fixed on him, and John asked, “Everything ok?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied quickly, “Let’s go.”

The police arrived twenty minutes later, and in less than five the man was confessing his entire plan. John gave a deposition for the both of them, Sherlock only pointing out the different cops’ little secrets every time they asked him a question. When they finally managed to make it back to their room, John could still feel the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He let himself fall on the bed, Sherlock coming to sit next to him after a few seconds. “That was insane,” John breathed out. “Absolutely insane.”

Sherlock smiled, looking down at him, “You liked it.”

John laughed, closing his eyes, “I fucking loved it.” He felt the mattress dip next to him, and he didn’t need to open his eyes to know Sherlock had lay down. “You do that for a living?”

He heard Sherlock chuckle, “I don’t get paid, but yes, that’s what I do.”

“Alone?” John asked, opening his eyes and turning his head to look at him.

Sherlock was staring up at the ceiling, both hands clasped on his stomach, “Yes, alone.”

“Isn’t it a bit dangerous?”

Sherlock didn’t reply right away, his lips stretching into a smile, before turning his head to face him, “I wasn’t alone tonight.”

John smiled, and without thinking twice about it, leant forward and kissed Sherlock. He didn’t have the time to pull back before Sherlock was pressing their mouths just a little harder together, humming into the kiss, and John felt a rush of need wash over him. He shifted to his side, one hand coming to rest on Sherlock’s nape, and brought their bodies closer. Sherlock pulled away briefly only to seal their lips together again. John moaned when Sherlock rolled to his side too, allowing both of them to get even closer together, and a long shiver ran through John as Sherlock’s hands began to roam over his chest and back.

“Sherlock,” John breathed out when they parted long enough.

Sherlock was breathing heavily against his lips, eyes half closed and his cheeks red. John found himself unable to look away. He traced his lips with his thumbs, parting them softly, and another moan escaped Sherlock’s mouth. John crashed their lips back together, rolling Sherlock to his back and lying half on top of him. Sherlock let him in immediately, their tongues meeting again and again, as both of their moans echoed in the room. John could feel his cock harden by the second, and he pressed himself further against Sherlock’s hips.

“Oh, god,” Sherlock gasped, throwing his head back, and John kissed at his neck.

He nipped and licked and sucked, and soon Sherlock’s hands were pressed against his arse, urging him to lie properly on top of him. John didn’t waste any time, settling between his legs and pressing their crotches together. They both cried out, Sherlock’s erection hard against his own, and John recaptured his mouth. He rocked against him, each movement making them both shiver, and John never felt more alive. He threaded his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, pulling softly and making Sherlock cry out into the kiss.

“John,” he moaned again and again, hips pushing against John’s. “John.”

“God, you’re gorgeous,” John panted, kissing his way down Sherlock’s jaw and neck. Sherlock arched against him as John mouthed over his still clothed nipple, “Absolutely gorgeous,” John continued, mouth descending lower.

“John, pl-” Sherlock whimpered as John finally reached the hard bulge inside his trousers.

He teased for long seconds, hands now on Sherlock’s hips and his mouth still kissing over the fabric. He could feel Sherlock pushing against his face, urging him for more, and with a grin, John began to undress him. He pushed the trousers and pants down, the strong smell of Sherlock’s arousal filling the air, and he quickly took him into his mouth.

“John!” Sherlock cried out, both hands in his hair now, and John sucked at the head for long seconds.

He took his time, discovering Sherlock’s taste, tongue swirling along the shaft slowly. He could feel Sherlock’s fingers digging into his scalp, his thighs shaking, and John loved the way he seemed to lose control entirely. He wrapped one hand at the base of Sherlock’s cock, removing his mouth only to kiss down the length, tongue tracing the veins. He glanced up, finding Sherlock’s eyes fixed on his, and he smiled before swallowing him down again.

“Oh god, John,” Sherlock moaned, arching on the bed.

John started to stroke him with his hand, taking as much as he could of Sherlock’s cock inside his mouth. He made sure to stimulate Sherlock’s balls with his other hand, wanting nothing more but to give this brilliant man a mind shattering orgasm. He could already feel Sherlock starting to shake, John’s tongue collecting more and more precome. Sherlock’s hands moved from John’s head to his own hips, pushing at his trousers, and John let go of his balls to help him. Sherlock immediately opened his legs wider and this time started to moan John’s name over and over, “John, I’m-”

Sherlock’s entire body went still as he came into John’s mouth. John swallowed without hesitation as he continued to sucked him gently through his orgasm. Sherlock was still moaning his name, eyes closed and body still shaking. John let go of him when his cock started to twitch with over-sensitivity, and only then did he realise how painfully hard he was. He crawled back on top of Sherlock, kissing him again, and Sherlock went pliant into his arms.

“Fuck, you’re- fuck,” John panted, hands working on his own jeans. “Oh god,” he moaned as he finally closed one hand around himself.

He was already too far gone, and stroked himself fast and hard, staring down at Sherlock beneath him. His hands were now on John’s back, head angled up as if to ask another kiss and eyes still closed, and John stroked himself faster. “Fuck, Sherlock,” he moaned and Sherlock opened his eyes, staring up at him before looking down between their pressed bodies. John felt himself starting to come as Sherlock licked his lips, eyes fixed on his cock. “Oh god!”

He came all over Sherlock’s shirt, falling boneless on top of him and nuzzling his face against his neck. They remained like that for long seconds, panting and warm, and John could have fallen asleep right there. Still, he forced himself to roll over his back again, staring at the ceiling and feeling Sherlock move next to him. He didn’t look as Sherlock stood up, didn’t look as he went for the bathroom. He listened to the shower running and for a moment, feared he had just ruined everything.


	3. Day Three - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter in two parts since I had the first 3000 words ready for days but the second part is taking a bit more time than anticipated! So here it goes, enjoy!

John woke up first the next morning. He lingered for a moment in bed, eyes closed and head buried in the pillow. He could hear Sherlock’s breathing echoing in the room, soft and regular, and John couldn’t help but remember how ragged it had been just the night before. Feeling a pang of arousal low in his stomach, John rolled to his back and let out a quiet sigh. He turned to glance at Sherlock, still asleep and lying half on top of the covers. John’s eyes traveled down his body, remembering how it had shaken under his hands.

 _Fuck_.

He closed his eyes again. He couldn’t get in over his head. If Sherlock never wanted to happen again, it was fine. If he wanted John to take him to bed again, it was fine. More than fine. Realising there was no way he could fall back asleep, John got up as quietly as possible. He put on jeans and a shirt quickly and cast one last look at Sherlock’s still sleeping form before exiting the room. He went directly for the breakfast area, sitting down with his phone and letting out a loud sigh before pressing the call button.

“ _John?_ ” Mary replied after two ringtones.

“Yes, it’s me,” John replied, already feeling a knot form in his chest;

“ _Where were you? I’ve been calling for the past two days!_ ”

John rubbed a hand over his eyes, “ _I’m not in Scotland anymore_.”

“ _What do you mean you’re not in Scotland anymore? Where are you?”_

“ _Harry’s birthday, remember?_ ”

Mary sighed on the other side of the line, “ _You had some important matters to attend here, John!”_

“Not really, no,” John hurried to reply.

“ _Don’t do this, John,”_ Mary sighed again, “ _You know we need to talk_.”

John let out a nervous laugh, “Talk about what? You said it yourself Mary, remember, you don’t ever want to see me again!”

“ _I was angry, John, you can unders-_ ”

“No,” John cut her off, “I don’t understand. How can you even say that!”

 _“I have every right, John, you lied to me, concealed your sexuality from me ever since we started dating!_ ”

“Do you hear yourself, Mary?” John asked, starting to feel out of breath. “I trusted you, I thought you would accept this part of me just like all the others.”

Mary laughed, “ _How can I trust you? Who’s telling me you’re not going to dump with for some guy! In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a cock, John!”_

“Do you hear yourself?” John asked, not quite believing what he had just heard.

 _“This conversation is going nowhere,”_ Mary replied, and John could almost picture her shaking her head. “ _When are you coming back?_ ”

“I’m not coming back, Mary.”

“ _John, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. We need to take care of the house, of our life here_.”

“You do whatever you want,” John replied, “I don’t care. You have your life there, Mary. I never did.”

 _“Fine. Be that way. I don’t care._ ”

“Goodbye, Mary.”

“ _Go fuck yourself, John_ ,” Mary cursed before hanging up.

John stared at his phone for a long moment, the realisation that this part of his life was truly over sinking in, and he found himself laughing. _Over_. He ran a hand over his head, the need to go back to his room, to see Sherlock, overwhelming him all of the sudden. It didn’t matter how Sherlock would greet him, John was going to make the best of the next four days.

Grabbing more biscuits, he paid for his breakfast and almost ran back to the room. Sherlock was standing in front of his bed when he got in, looking up at John, “You paid for your breakfast.”

John smiled, “I did and I don’t you dare try to pay me back.” Sherlock rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, and John took another step toward him. “Listen, Sherlock, I-”

“We slept together, John, no need to make a big deal over it,” Sherlock cut him off.

John stared, not sure to understand, and tried a tentative, “Okay. What do you mean, not a big deal?”

Sherlock looked back at him, “We had sex, it was good and I’m inclined to do it again.”

John felt himself smile, “Inclined?” He knew he was teasing, and laughed when Sherlock let out a deep sigh. “Alright, Alright. I’m glad it happened too,” he said, taking another step toward him. “And I’m just as inclined to do it again.” He went to sit on Sherlock’s bed, “But we need to talk first.”

Sherlock sighed again, “Must we really?”

John hummed, “Yep,” he nodded toward the empty space next to him and waited for Sherlock to sit before saying, “I enjoyed last night very much, but there are some things we need to discuss.”

Sherlock looked down at his hands, clasped together on his lap, and replied with another sigh, “If this is about being clean, you don’t need to worry.”

John tried to be as gentle as he could as he said, “You did confess to using drugs for a rather long period of time.”

Sherlock gazed up at him, “I also said I’ve been in rehab for the past six months. They do a test before letting us go. I’m clean.”

John nodded, breathing out deeply, “Alright, fine. What about previous partners then?”

Sherlock stood up, starting to pace around the room, “No worry there either.”

John opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but forced himself not to, looking down at the floor. Sherlock was allowed his own privacy. They were just casual lovers and would be for the next four days. He didn’t need to know all of  Sherlock’s past sexual history. _I really don’t_ , John told himself, trying to ignore the pang of, illogical, jealousy rushing over him.

He looked up to find Sherlock staring at him, “I only ever had one partner, a long time ago, and never found it necessary to look for another.”

“I wasn’t aski-”

“You were thinking so loudly, it was written all over your face,” Sherlock cut in, and John was certain he saw the beginning of a smile on his lips.

“Sorry,” John said, “It’s none of my business who you slept with.”

Sherlock shrugged, stopping his pacing and standing in front of him. “What about you?”

John stared up at him, “Who I slept with?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “No. Are you clean?”

John smiled, realising Sherlock was probably able to deduce the exact number of people he must have slept with, and replied, “Yes. I do regular check ups.”

Sherlock nodded sharply, “Good.”

“Good,” John found himself replying, eyes dropping to Sherlock’s lips. “You know,” he said in a breath, “we still have time before checking out.”

Sherlock’s lips stretched into a smile, “How convenient.”

John glanced up again, saying “Really convenient, yes” before tugging at Sherlock’s shirt and letting himself fall onto his back on the bed.

Sherlock was immediately crawling on top of him, crashing their mouths together, and John couldn’t help but moan at the contact. Christ, how could he have missed this so much in just one night. He wrapped both arms around Sherlock’s torso, forcing him to lie down on top of him, and soon they were entirely pressed against one another. Spreading his legs, John let Sherlock settle between them and arched into the touch, feeling himself getting harder and harder.

Sherlock pulled away but stayed close as he caught his breath, panting against John’s lips. John stared up at him, biting back a _god, you’re beautiful_ threatening to escape his lips, and brought Sherlock’s face down for another kiss instead. They kissed for several seconds or hours, Sherlock’s taste invading his mouth, and John slid his hands down his back and arse. He squeezed, forcing Sherlock down against him even more, and they both groaned inside the kiss as their clothed erections rubbed together.

“Oh god,” John panted, throwing his head back, “You feel amazing.”

Sherlock was kissing at his neck, hands travelling all over his sides and thighs, “Is this alright?”

John was taken aback by the question at first before remembering Sherlock had just confessed that he’d only ever been with one lover before, and he hurried to reply a breathless, “Brilliant, this is fucking brilliant.”

He felt Sherlock’s smile against his neck, and John decided to show him just how more brilliant it could get. He locked both legs around Sherlock’s waist, canting his hips higher and bucking into Sherlock’s.

“John,” Sherlock moaned, quickly rocking back against him, and they found their pace without another word.

John was starting to worry they would not even have the time to remove their clothes before he was going to come, but then Sherlock was pulling away and pushing John’s shirt up. “Wait, wait,” John laughed, straightening just enough for Sherlock to push the shirt over his head. He immediately began kissing all over John’s chest, lingering on his nipples, and John arched on the bed again. “Oh fuck, Sherlock.”

It occurred to him that Sherlock hadn’t touched him the night before, and John wondered if he was trying to make it up to him. But the moment he felt Sherlock shivered on top of him, his hips starting to lose their pace, he realised Sherlock was in fact doing this for himself just as much.

“You too,” John panted, forcing Sherlock to look up at him again. “I want to touch you too.”

Sherlock nodded and sat back on his heels. Without saying a word he let John’s fingers take care of his shirt. John threw it on the floor, hands and eyes roaming over Sherlock’s pale chest. God, how John wanted. He let his legs fall back on the bed, sitting up to face Sherlock and kissing him again. Soon, Sherlock was pressing them closer again, their bare chests pressed together, and John took back control of the kiss. He parted Sherlock’s lips, licking into his mouth and sliding both hands down his back. As soon as he reached Sherlock’s arse, he forced him down on the bed, “Still too many clothes.”

He removed Sherlock’s trousers and pants quickly, before doing the same with his own. They stared at each other for long seconds, seeing each other entirely naked for the first time, and John couldn’t believe his luck. He was the lover of a beautiful man, and he intended to let him know just how much he was enjoying this. He lowered himself back on top of Sherlock, nudging his legs open and sliding his erection directly against his.

“Hmmm, John,” Sherlock moaned, eyes fixed on his.

“Okay?” John couldn’t help but ask, resting his weight on his elbows by Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock nodded, his breath coming hot against John’s face, “Yes, yes.”

John rocked them once together, Sherlock’s cock already wet against his, and let out guttural moan, “God, you’re- this is perfect.”

Sherlock was nodding again, hands splayed over his arse, “Don’t stop.”

John shook his head, leaning down for a quick kiss, “Wouldn’t be able to,” he panted.

“Good,” Sherlock moaned, one of his legs now locked around John’s waist. “Oh god, John.”

John’s brain registered they should use lube but he was far too gone to do anything about it. _Another time_ , he thought, continuing to thrust against Sherlock. He had both thumbs stroking Sherlock’s cheeks, their faces inches apart, and John found himself wishing this moment would linger for ages and ages. Suddenly realising Sherlock would be able to read any of this on his face, the leant in for another kiss and started to rut faster against him. Sherlock’s moans were getting lost inside their kiss, both of their bodies shaking now, and John could tell the moment Sherlock’s orgasm was going to hit.

He pulled away just in time to stare down at him, committing every detail to memory. From the way Sherlock’s entire body arched beneath him to his face frozen in pleasure, everything making John’s own orgasm build and build. “Oh fuck, Sherlock,” he moaned, thrusting hard against him and coming with Sherlock’s name on his lips.

He fell back down on top of Sherlock, head resting against his chest and wondering if he would ever breathe properly again, before letting out a small laugh. He felt Sherlock’s hands slide up his back before settling on his nape, “What?” he asked in a breath.

“Pretty good roadtrip,” John smiled, looking up at him and finding Sherlock staring down at his lips. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Sherlock didn’t reply, barely nodding, and John scooted himself higher to kiss him. He nipped at Sherlock’s lower lip, feeling him exhale loudly through his nose, and John could only smile against his lips. He lingered there for long seconds, parting Sherlock’s lips slowly, tongue brushing and teasing, before pulling away. Sherlock didn’t let him go far each time, seeking his mouth with soft whimpers, and John found himself very pleased to kiss him again. He felt Sherlock starting to shiver more and more, and with another kiss, he whispered, “Wait.”

He reached for his shirt by the bed, cleaning them both quickly before settling back on the bed. He pushed the covers over the both of them, lying down with a sigh. He watched as Sherlock considered the space between them with frowning eyes and let out a laugh as Sherlock pulled him closer. John went willingly into his arms, the two of them lying on their sides, legs tangled and hands exploring.

“What time is it?” John asked, well aware they couldn’t stay like this for the rest of the day.

“Eleven past ten,” Sherlock replied in a breath, eyes fixed on John’s collarbone where one of his fingers was tracing random patterns.

John closed his eyes, humming and snuggled closer. He didn’t have the time to fall back asleep, but he was going to enjoy a few minutes of bliss for sure. Sherlock didn’t seem to mind, his hands roaming all over John’s chest slowly, as if he was trying to memorize every angle, every patch of skin. John was happy to let him, more than happy even. Keeping one of his hands secured on Sherlock’s hip, he asked softly, “Can I ask you a question?”

Sherlock’s finger stilled for the briefest of seconds before saying, “Yes.”

“Earlier,” John began, “You said you only had one partner and didn’t find the need to look for another.” John waited for Sherlock to dismiss the question entirely if it was too personal, but Sherlock simply continued to explore his chest without a word. Breathing out slowly, John continued, “What did you mean by that?”

It took several seconds for Sherlock to reply, but John forced himself to keep his eyes closed, to leave him a semblance of privacy.

“The partner in question introduced me to various sexual acts, with my entire consent of course, but we weren’t,” he stopped, as if searching for the right word, “a couple. He was an attentive lover and provided me with some useful knowledge, but when it ended, I realised I could continue without sex and not be bothered by it.”

John’s eyes blinked open as he said, “But it is something you like, right?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied.

John smiled, eyes traveling over Sherlock’s face, and he felt the irresistible urge to kiss him again. “So you’ve never been in a relationship,” he said instead, licking his lips.

Sherlock shook his head, pressing one hand over John’s heart and the other against his neck, “Relationships sound more like trouble than anything else.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong,” John joked, images of his own relationship with Mary playing in his head. “But it can also be brilliant.”

Sherlock shrugged, “I fail to see how.”

John bit back his reply, too afraid to sound like a fool, and asked instead, “Are you measuring my heartbeat?”

A smile bloomed on Sherlock’s lips, “Slightly elevated, most likely due to your recent activities or you could also be showing new signs of arousal.”

John laughed, feeling something warm and unexpected fill his chest, “Could actually be both, you know.” Sherlock’s eyes dropped to his lips again and John’s smiled widened. He pulled him closer, “We really don’t have time,” he whispered.

“I know,” Sherlock breathed out but didn’t move away, and John sealed their mouths together slowly. Sherlock hummed into the kiss, pressing them closer and letting both of his hands fall over John’s chest and back. John was actually feeling the first tremor of arousal low in his groin again, and he willed it away. They didn’t have the time, and frankly, he wasn’t sure what it would mean if they had another go so soon.

He licked into Sherlock’s mouth for another second, brushing their lips in quick kisses before whispering, “Want to shower first?”

He felt Sherlock sigh against his lips, “John, we had sex twice already, surely we can take advantage of this new facet to gain time and shower at the same time.”

John stared at him for a second before laughing, “How well thought out of you!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled too, and John leant in for another kiss before saying, “Fine, but no touching or this won’t be a efficient way to gain time at all!”

Sherlock seemed to consider it for a moment, making John laugh again, before saying, “You’re probably right.”

John pushed the covers away, shivering, “Trust me, I am.”

Sherlock was the first to straighten up, John following quickly now that his source of warmth was gone, and they hurried to the bathroom. They did manage to get at it quickly, John only getting lost in the contemplation of Sherlock’s pale and tempting body twice and the two of them trading soap and water as if they had been taking showers together for years. For a moment John wondered when was the last time he had showered with Mary, or even shared such a intimate moment with her, but he pushed the thought away and focused back on Sherlock’s detailed explanation concerning the chemical component of the hotel’s soap.


	4. Day three - part 2

“You’re singing,” Sherlock pointed out, hours later, and John felt himself blush stupidly.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

He felt Sherlock’s eyes on him, watching as closely as ever, and John tried not to shift on his seat.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock finally said, not looking away. “I wasn’t complaining.”

John glanced at him, feeling himself smile, “Are you saying you like my singing voice?”

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes and looking back at the road, “I said no such thing.”

John let out a small laugh, one hand coming to brush Sherlock’s thigh, “You did,” he pressed his hand down, urging Sherlock to look back at him, but Sherlock’s eyes fell on his lap. John took away his hand and put it back on the wheel. “Sorry.”

Sherlock didn’t reply, eyes still on his lap, and John tapped his fingers in rhythm against the wheel. He really liked this song. Another long second passed before Sherlock was looking up and back at him, “We’re not far, now.”

John cleared his throat, “Yeah.” He glanced back at him and let out a relieved sigh. Sherlock didn’t seem upset or angry.  He sighed. They were getting closer and closer so London, and in less than an hour, they’ll have to face the simple fact that Sherlock had really no business coming to Wales with him. “It’ll be nice to eat something homemade for once,” John smiled, but the look Sherlock gave him was all the answer he needed. “Or not.”

“If I were you,” Sherlock said, “I wouldn’t trust any food you find in my apartment.” He smiled, “If there is any.”

John laughed, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Sherlock didn’t lose his smile, still looking at him, and John shifted on his seat, “What is it?”

“I know where we can eat tonight,” Sherlock replied.

John waited for him to elaborate and smiled as he realised Sherlock was probably never going to stop being all mysterious all the time, “And?”

“I think you’ll like it,” Sherlock said, now looking as if he just had the idea of the century. “Better than anything you’d have cooked us.”

“Wait,” John laughed, “Who said I was going to be the one cooking in the first place.”

Sherlock shrugged, “I thought it was fairly obvious.”

John shook his head, “And besides, you’ve never tasted my cooking!”

Sherlock seemed to consider this for a moment, “True.”

“One day, I’ll make you something you won’t be able to forget,” John promised before he realised what he was saying, but when Sherlock fell silent, it hit him. _One day_ . If it wasn’t today, there won’t be a ‘ _one day’_.

Tightening his grip on the wheel, John let out a small sigh. “What kind of food is this restaurant of yours?” He tried tentatively.

“That would be spoiling the surprise,” Sherlock replied, not smiling anymore.

John glanced back at him, “It’s a surprise?”

Sherlock met his eyes for a second before nodding. John felt himself smile once more, the temptation to kiss him, just a quick brush of lips, getting harder and harder to resist. _Tonight,_ he thought, _I need to make tonight count_ . He wondered if Sherlock would let him kiss him all night, would let him explore all of him. _Fuck_.

John forced himself to stop. He couldn’t start to think about Sherlock that way, not when London was merely forty minutes away. He should have known he wasn’t ready for casual sex, he hadn’t been for years now, and with someone like Sherlock… Really, who was he kidding all this time.

“You’re thinking,” Sherlock said suddenly.

John feared once more he could actually read minds, and replied quickly, “Isn’t it what everyone does?”

Sherlock sighed, “I can practically hear your thoughts from here.”

For some reason, John found himself apologizing, “Sorry.”

Sherlock sighed, again, before looking at him, “You’re thinking I’m going to say in London and you’ll have to rent a car to go to Wales.” He stopped, John wasn’t certain he was expecting an answer or not, so he remained silent. After another second, Sherlock said, “Just like I’ve already stated, on multiple occasions, that isn’t going to happen.”

John bit back a protest, choosing to fight this fight another time, “Alright.”

Sherlock stared at him, probably considering commenting on his obvious deflection, but didn’t say anything. John thanked him silently. He didn’t want to talk about this now. They still had an hour together in this car before arriving in London, at Sherlock’s home, and the entire illusion would be broken.

“Tell about one of your cases,” John said suddenly. He felt Sherlock’s questioning eyes on him. “Come on, I’m sure there’s a lot more than what you already told me.”

“There is,” Sherlock conceded.

John looked back at him, licking his lips and Sherlock’s eyes dropped lower to follow the movement. God, how he wanted to kiss him. “So?”

Sherlock glanced back up, still frowning but the corner of his lips stretched into a small smile, “You actually care.”

John bit back a laugh, not liking the surprise in Sherlock’s voice, “Of course I do, it’s fascinating,” he stopped, considering his next words carefully, “You’re fascinating.”

Sherlock looked away and for a second, John was certain he just saw a faint blush on his cheeks. Allowing himself a smug smile, he let his free hand slide up Sherlock’s thigh slowly. He felt Sherlock tense, eyes back on him, but John forced himself not to panic. Still, it felt like seconds stretched into hours before Sherlock’s fingers brushed the back of his hand softly, almost a caress.

“Once Lestrade came to me with a double homicide,” Sherlock began, fingers still tracing invisible lines on John’s hands and wrist. “The Yard had been trying to work it out for days and the media had started to talk over how long it was taking, so obviously they asked for my help. It was still the beginning of our collaboration, and Lestrade’s boss still had some problems with some of my methods.”

“I can imagine,” John smiled, earning an eye roll from Sherlock. “Just saying,” he shrugged before adding, “Go on.”

“I was allowed to visit the crime scene only if everything had been cleaned up and all the evidence removed, but it was the first time I was working such an important case. I can still remember the room perfectly, every furniture telling me the story of what happened there, and-” Sherlock’s voice trailed off for a second, his mouth still open but his eyes lost in memories. John waited patiently, his thumbs starting to stroke his thigh. It took another minute before Sherlock came back to reality, looking at him and John smiled softly.

“Lost you for a second,” he breathed out.

“Sorry,” Sherlock apologized quickly, “I jus-”

“It’s alright,” John cut in. He nearly, _nearly_ , leant forward for a kiss but stopped himself. “Did you solve it, then?”

Sherlock’s entire face softened as he replied, “Obviously.”

John laughed, still feeling Sherlock’s eyes on him, and really, why was he even trying to fool himself like this. He gazed at him, “I want to kiss you.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, breathing out a quiet, “Oh.” His fingers stilled on John’s hand but didn’t move away. “Isn’t it,” he glanced at the road, “dangerous?”

John laughed again, “I wasn’t aiming for a full snog,” he replied, smiling and really, really wanting to kiss the man. Sherlock was staring back at him. “So, do yo-”

“Yes,” Sherlock cut him off, his hand now covering John’s entirely. “Yes.”

John felt his smile grow wider and he checked the road quickly before leaning in and meeting Sherlock in the middle. It didn’t, couldn’t, last long, and John only had the time to tease Sherlock’s lower lips with his tongue before they were parting. Sherlock didn’t move, his body still leaning toward his, and John dived back in for another kiss before he could sit back.

John ignored the quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him he really shouldn’t feel so breathless after just two chaste kisses, and focused back on the road. Their hands were still glued together.

“Are going to tell me how you did it, then?” He asked after a moment, finding himself grinning and realising he actually didn’t mind.

Only then did Sherlock sit back properly, seemingly still lost in his thoughts for a second, before saying, “It was the daughter. She killed her parents after years of being silently abused by the both of them. I found the hidden room inside the house in less than twenty minutes, exposing the two victims and what they had been doing all that time.”

“That is- Fuck.”

Sherlock hummed, “Yes. She had ran away right after killing them both and the Yard tried to chase her for two months before giving up. I think no one was actually trying to find her, not really.”

“I can understand that,” John breathed out.

“Still, she remains a criminal and her picture is in every police’s database,” Sherlock said, fingers back to tracing patterns on his hand. “She’s going to live her entire life running away.”

“Always better than what she had to endure,” John asserted, finding himself hoping she had actually found somewhere to live, far from here. Sherlock fell silent and it took a moment for John to put the pieces together. “You know where she is,” he finally said.

Sherlock’s eyes crossed his, “I know where she is.”

They stared at each other, “And she’s fine?”

Sherlock nodded, “She’s safe.”

John pulled him down for another kiss, a little more desperate this time, the urge for more taking over him. “You really should focus on the road,” Sherlock whispered when they parted and John smiled against his lips. The whole exchange had lasted less than ten seconds, and John wanted more, more, _more_.

“Stop distracting me, then.”

Sherlock smiled, “I’m doing no such thing.”

John squeezed his thigh, thinking he really couldn’t ask for another kiss so soon, and kept his eyes on the road instead. Sherlock remained silent for less than a minute before starting to explain how exactly he had traced the daughter all the way to a small village in France. He told him about her school, about her grades, about the place she rented and the people she hung out with, and in the middle of a shared laugh, John realised they had just entered London.

“Do you want to stop by your flat first?” John asked, finding Sherlock staring out his window.

“It’s already late,” he replied without looking at him, “We should go eat first.”

John held on to the fact that Sherlock still hadn’t pushed his hand away, “I’ll need the address for that.”

“I’ll show you the way,” Sherlock explained and finally glanced at him. “You’ll have to head to central London.”

John nodded, “Right, okay.”

They drove in silence for the rest of the way, Sherlock only speaking to indicate to John the way. It wasn’t like any silence they had shared before but John refused to read too much into it.

“We’re here,” Sherlock finally said, gesturing for John to park and John reluctantly removed his hand.

Neither of them moved as John turned off the engine. He glanced at Sherlock and then at the restaurant’s facade, “Angelo’s? Italian?”

Sherlock smiled at him, “Knew you would like it.”

They entered quickly, and John couldn’t keep his eyes away from Sherlock as the owner started to explain exactly how Sherlock had helped with some robbery case. In complete honesty, John wasn’t listening. If the urge to touch, to kiss had been overwhelming while they were driving, it was now all he could think about. Sherlock was right there, smiling and beautiful, and John knew the exact taste of his lips, of his skin.

“You’re staring,” Sherlock said in a breath, his own eyes fixed on John’s.

“I’m hungry,” John found himself replying, knowing how ridiculous it sounded but not caring anymore. “And not for Italian food.”

Sherlock frowned at him and John watched as he finally understood, “Oh.” John didn’t reply. “I- Hmm. Angelo’s delivers too, well, he does for me.”

John was up and putting his jacket on immediately. Sherlock’s eyes travelled down his face and chest and groin, and John bit back a gasp, “Come on.”

Sherlock stood up quickly, moving to where Angelo was working and back in less than a minute. “Let’s go,” he murmured before stepping out, and John didn’t waste any more time.

The ride to Sherlock’s home was done in silence again, a much more heated one, and John really hoped he didn’t live far or he wasn’t sure they would make it there. Turned out he didn’t have to worry too much, and soon Sherlock was pointing out a spot for him to park. They were out of the car and entering the building quickly, Sherlock climbing the stairs almost running.

The moment they passed the front door, John was all over him. He pushed Sherlock against the nearest wall, crashing their mouths together and locking their groins. Sherlock was moaning, low and deep into the kiss, hands already roaming all over his back. John teased for as long as he could manage, leaving Sherlock breathless and whimpering each time he nipped at his lips, never quite parting them. He could feel Sherlock’s erection pressed against his own, already impressively hard, and god, how John wanted.

“John, please,” Sherlock gasped, chasing his lips and moaning loudly when John finally allowed their tongues to meet.

He slid both hands down Sherlock’s side and hips, lifting one of his legs up and rocking into him. Sherlock’s fingers clenched at his jacket, locking his leg around his waist and thrusting back against him. They were still too bloody clothed but John couldn’t seem to stop kissing him. He felt Sherlock arch against him, throwing his head back against the wall and crying out his name.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” John panted, nipping at his neck, “Fucking gorgeous.”

Sherlock’s hand slid to his arse, pressing them closer together, “More.”

John giggled, the sound turning into a gasp as Sherlock lowered himself just enough for John’s cock to rub against his arse, “Oh god.”

Sherlock recaptured his lips in a hungry kiss, both hands now cupping his face and titling his head so he could deepen the kiss even more.

“Bedroom?” John asked when Sherlock let him breathe again, resting their foreheads together.

Sherlock, eyes closed and mouth hanging open, breathed out a panting, “Down the hallway.”

John left a trail of kisses along his jaw, sucking at his lower lip and swallowing Sherlock’s moans before taking a step back. He took a moment to engrave the image of Sherlock’s swollen lips and ravaged breathing before groaning, “Less clothes,” before starting to remove his own shirt.

They lost most of their clothing on the way to the bedroom, John resisting the urge to pin Sherlock against another wall until they finally made it inside. Sherlock was just finishing removing his trousers when John pushed him down on the large bed in the middle of the room, crawling on top of him and rolling his hips against his. With only their pants in the way now, it felt like a bolt of electricity. John remained on all fours, simply rubbing their erections together slowly until Sherlock was all but shaking beneath him.

“John, please,” he gasped, tugging at John’s pants.

“Tell me,” John teased, fingers threading through Sherlock’s curls and lips brushing together.

Sherlock seemed to struggle with words for a second before saying, “Less clothes!”

John laughed, something warm taking over his chest, and he planted one long kiss against Sherlock’s lips. Turned out Sherlock wasn’t too good with patience and John found himself being rolled onto his back in one swift movement, “What are y- Fuck!”

Sherlock was mouthing at his clothed erection, tongue darting out and teasing, oh god, teasing over his head. John spread his legs wider, fingers finding Sherlock’s hair again, “Sherlock, god.”

“I wanted to do this for a long time,” Sherlock panted, now slowly pushing John’s pants down his hips. John let out a growl when his cock sprung free. “Learn how you taste, how you feel inside my mouth.”

“Christ, your voice,” John moaned, eyes shut tight and head thrown back.

He felt Sherlock rub his face against his pelvis, breathing in and out deeply, and John had to look back down at him again. As if that was what Sherlock was waiting for, he closed his lips around John’s cock as soon as their eyes met. “Oh fuck!”

Sherlock wasted no time, apparently just as desperate as John was, and sucked him in earnest. There was no point at denying how fucking brilliant he was, and John found himself not surprised at all. Everything about Sherlock was brilliant. “Hmmmm,” he groaned, fighting back the urge to thrust into the warm heat of Sherlock’s mouth. He pulled at his hair just a little and was rewarded with a deeper suck.

Realising how dangerously close he was already, John slid both hands to Sherlock’s nape, stroking slowly as he panted, “Wait, wait, I-”

Sherlock took him even deeper, swallowing around him and John arched on the bed, “Oh god.”

Sherlock slowly let go of him, kissing at his inner thigh and hip bone for long seconds before making his way back up. John was still trying to breathe properly when Sherlock’s lips reached his and he allowed himself to be kissed for several seconds. “Off,” he panted when they pulled away, tugging at Sherlock’s pants, and soon they were both entirely, brilliantly naked.

Sherlock let himself fall on top of him, John locking both legs around his waist and arching into him with a moan. It was ridiculous, really, doing this for the third time and being just as overwhelmed with just Sherlock’s cock pressed against his. They were so many things they could do and yet John wanted him like this, just like this. Panting and sweaty and hard and so very close.

“John, John, I’m-”

“Yes,” John breathed out, “Yes.”

Sherlock rocked them together faster, their erections sliding together. John held onto him tightly, face pressed against Sherlock’s neck and heart pounding in his ears. It was glorious, absolutely glorious, so fucking glorious.

“I can’t- I need-” Sherlock bucked into him, “John, I-”

“Anything,” John moaned, “Anything.”

Sherlock was shaking, both of his arms no longer holding him up above John, and it took all of his will for John to focus long enough to realise what Sherlock was trying to say. He rolled them both to their side, the movement pulling them apart for a second and Sherlock whimpered, “ _John_.”

John reached for him again, sliding one leg between Sherlock’s and providing them both a thigh to rub against. It ended up being messy and out of control, but John loved every second of it. He loved the way Sherlock’s arm felt under his head, loved the way his chest rose against his, loved the way his eyes fluttered closed as he got closer to orgasm.

“Like this, like this, yes,” he panted, lips sucking at Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock rutted against his leg faster, his cock hard and leaking, before going entirely still. John pulled away so he could watch him come, marvelling once again at the sight in front of him, and found his own release in the seconds that followed. They didn’t move, didn’t part or even pull away.

John pressed his head back in the crook of Sherlock’s neck, breathing him in.


	5. Day Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> Sorry it took so long to post this chapter! With work and the all disaster of s4, I had lost the envy to write. But I'm on holiday now and my goal is to finish this story, no matter what, so here goes chapter 5. You can expect more very soon.
> 
> Pauline.

John woke up not remembering having fell asleep.

The other side of the bed was empty and Sherlock’s flat deadly silent. John listened closely for another second before letting out a deep sigh. They hadn’t talked after last night’s shag, and John realised they had never gotten to eat. If he focused long enough, he could recall Sherlock’s lips against his temple and his chest rising slowly against his, but that was all. He remembered, of course, feeling like he could never get enough of Sherlock, feeling like his whole world now revolved around this brilliant man who could read him like a book and make him lose his mind with just a touch of his lips.

“For god’s sake, Watson, what are you doing,” John whispered to himself.

He rubbed a hand over his face before letting out another deep sigh. Getting up quickly, he picked up his pants and put them on. The kitchen was empty and John looked for a mug before heating up the remaining coffee in the pot. There was an empty mug in the sink, so Sherlock must have woken up and gone out. John drank his coffee standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and letting his eyes take in the room around him. There wasn’t much, just some old pans and plates on the table and too much experimental equipment as well. John smiled, picturing Sherlock sitting there and studying god knows what under the microscope.

Once his coffee was finished, John washed both mugs and decided to explore more of the flat. It wasn’t big, the sitting room open to the kitchen, and the mess there was even worse. There were books all over the table and sofa, a computer on the table and some notes and papers everywhere. John picked up some, trying to understand what Sherlock had scribbled down and shaking his head as he caught the words _dead, blood_ and _hang?_

The bathroom was strangely clean and smelling of soap. Clearly Sherlock had showered before going out, and John wondered if he should too. His suitcase was still in the car, but he could use some of Sherlock’s soap and towels. Surely he wouldn’t mind. Deciding he’d wait for him to get back and ask, John went back to the living room and picked up a book about bees. He was beginning the second chapter when he heard the front door opening. Sherlock stood over him, frowning before smiling as his eyes dropped to the book cover, “Interesting?” he asked.

“Strangely so, yes,” John answered honestly, putting the book aside and getting up. He realised he was still only wearing his pants when Sherlock’s eyes traveled down his chest and groin, stopping there. John grinned, taking a step closer, “Where were you?”

Sherlock looked back up, raising one hand, “Breakfast.”

John took the bag out of his hand, raising himself to his tiptoes and brushing their lips together in the ghost of a kiss before saying, “Brilliant.”

He pulled away, not missing the way Sherlock sighed in protest, and sat back on the sofa. He opened the bag and bit into one of the pastries, humming in pleasure, “That’s nice.”

“I guess so,” Sherlock replied, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up before sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

“Want some?” John asked.

Sherlock shook his head, eyes still fixed on him, and John found himself hungry for something else entirely. He was just about to drop the bag and straddle Sherlock’s lap, when Sherlock said, “I have to be out for the day.”

“Oh,” John breathed out.

“Lestrade wants me on a case,” Sherlock explained, “It can be solved quickly, so it won’t mess up our schedule.”

John nodded, looking around him before saying, “I could take a walk around London in the meantime.”

Sherlock nodded.

“It’s been a while, and since you’ll be gone for the day.”

Sherlock nodded again, and John waited for something, anything before getting up and saying with a smile, “Better shower then, can I use some of you-”

“Yes,” Sherlock cut him, standing up too.

They remained silent for another second, standing close but not too close, and John hated it. He hated that suddenly he was aware of how fragile this all was, of how he wasn’t and would never be part of Sherlock’s life.

“I’ll just…” he breathed, pointing to the bathroom and walked away with one last smile.

He removed his pants quickly and was inside the shower even faster. He needed to cool down, to think about something else, and the hot water did the job nicely. He was just starting to plan his day around the city when the door opened. He stared at Sherlock as he came in, their eyes locked together and slowly, Sherlock started to get undressed. Neither of them pointed out the fact that he had showered already as he stepped into the shower, and John really, really didn’t say anything when Sherlock all but cradled him against the wall and pressed their bodies together.

Sherlock leant in but didn’t kiss him, breathing against his lips and staring into his eyes, and there were words threatening to spill out so John closed the final distance. Sherlock moaned as soon as they were kissing, tongues already meeting and parting and meeting again, and John was already burning. He grabbed Sherlock’s arse with both hands and encouraged him to move, rolling their hips together and bringing their growing erections into contact. It wasn’t going to take long, John realised, and he kissed Sherlock even harder. He needed this, now, needed to come, needed to make Sherlock lose his mind.

“John,” Sherlock panted when John started to kiss his way down his jaw and neck, “I don’t understand.”

John mouthed over his pulse point, “What?”

Sherlock moaned as they both started to rock faster against one another, “I can’t stop,” Sherlock gasped, “I want y- this, all the time.”

John groaned, hips bucking into Sherlock’s, “God, yes, me too.” He slid one hand between their bodies, taking them both in hand and stroking. “Me too.”

Sherlock cried out, loud, and started thrusting into John’s hand. John could feel him shaking in his arms, and he let go of his cock only to stroke Sherlock’s. “Come on, yes, like this.” Sherlock bent his head down, panting into John’s neck and came crying out his name for long, long seconds. It only took one, two, three strokes on his own cock for John to join him, locking both arms around Sherlock’s waist to keep them standing.

“I want to come with you today,” John confessed after a moment, not sure what else to say.

Sherlock pulled away just enough to look back at him, and John realised he was smiling, “Thought you’d never ask.” John let out a small laugh, feeling the knot in his chest fade away and he leant in for another kiss. Sherlock sighed inside his mouth, his body still pressed against John’s, and he slid both arms up and down John’s arms slowly. “Lestrade is waiting for us at nine,” Sherlock said when they parted.

“Better take that shower then,” John grinned, brushing their lips together one last time before pushing Sherlock away and reaching for the soap.

They made a rather quick job of the shower and then got dressed even quicker. John made sure not to stare too much to avoid any inconvenient erections. By the time they were outside and in a cab, Sherlock was already starting to fill him in on the details of the case.

“A woman went missing two weeks ago, but the police found a note where she states she just wanted a new start so they gave up. Three days later,” Sherlock continued with a smile, “her son went missing as well, and two days after that her daughter. None of them left notes, and the father is accusing her of kidnapping them.”

John frowned, “So why does the police need you?”

“They can’t seem to find her,” Sherlock replied, sounding way too excited, and John repressed the urge to pull him in for a kiss. “They’ve searched for her and the kids everywhere, traced her credit cards and looked for all the places she might have gone, but nothing.”

John smiled, “So they need you to find her.” Sherlock was almost beaming as he nodded, and John couldn’t take it any longer. He reached for his hand, pulled him closer and kissed him before saying, “You said you can solve this case today, does that mean you already know where she is?”

Sherlock nodded, not pulling away and whispering, “She never left the city, John.”

John felt something build inside him, a mix of excitement and apprehension, “She didn’t?”

“No,” Sherlock said, shaking his head. “She was murdered, just like her two children, and I’m going to prove it.”

*      *      *

Sherlock Holmes was bloody amazing.

John couldn’t believe his luck. In less than 12 hours he had sat in a DI’s office, listened to Sherlock correcting each and every one of the Yard’s theories, interrogated a murder suspect, and chased him all around London two hours later. This had been the best day of his life, and John was starting to think he would never feel like this ever again.

“Go home, Sherlock,” Lestrade said as the suspect was getting into a police car. “Thank you for helping us, and you can come by tomorrow for your deposition.”

“I won’t be in London tomorrow,” Sherlock replied, and John suddenly remembered their trip to Wales.

“Where are you going?” Lestrade asked, seeming concerned.

“Don’t worry, I’m just accompanying John to his sister’s,” Sherlock sighed. “Not getting high.”

Lestrade glanced at John who nodded, “Alright, email it to me then.” He rubbed a hand over his nape, sighing, “And Sherlock, stay off the drugs this time or you’ll never set another foot on my crime scenes, got it?”

John watched in silence as they stared at each other before Sherlock nodded tightly. Lestrade seemed pleased by the gesture and turned to walk away. Sherlock didn’t move, and John wondered what he usually did after solving a case. Maybe he used to go have a hit, find his dealer and celebrate. John felt himself tense, hating just the idea of Sherlock’s using.

“John?”

John looked up, finding Sherlock much closer than expected, “Yeah?”

“We didn’t have dinner last night,” Sherlock simply said, and John burst out laughing. “What is it?”

John shook his head softly, taking another step closer and sliding one arm around Sherlock’s waist, “We didn’t.” Sherlock frowned at him but didn’t pull away. “Hungry, then?” Sherlock hummed, eyes scanning John’s face and stopping on his lips. “Angelo’s?”

Sherlock remained still, eyes not moving and for a moment John thought he also stopped breathing. Just as he was about to close the distance and kiss that bloody gorgeous mouth, Sherlock took a step back and went to hail a cab.

“Fuck,” John cursed out loud before following him.

They spent the cab ride in silence and John started to worry as it stretched even once they were sitting at their table. Angelo was just as cheery and smiley as the last time, and it all felt too much like a date to John. There was even a bloody candle on the table.

“Sherlock,” he asked after another minute or two of silence, “Everything alright?”

Sherlock didn’t look up from his plate, “Obviously.”

John licked his lips, nodding slowly, “You know, you really don’t have to come with me to Wales.” Sherlock did look up at that. “I mean it, if you have more important things to do here, I understand. It makes no sense you coming with me anyway.”

“John, I said I’d come,” Sherlock asserted, sounding all too serious.

“I know, but I can find a car and you can go see Lestrade and maybe get another ca-”

Sherlock put his fork down, sighing before saying, “I said I would lend you my car for your entire trip, that includes going to Wales.” He stopped, staring into John’s eyes. “I am coming with you.”

John swallowed, his throat dry and his heart beating just a little too fast, “Alright. You’re coming with me.”

Sherlock continued to stare at him for another second before nodding and returning to his food. After that, John didn’t mind the silence so much anymore. It sort of felt good, as if they were saying things they couldn’t with words, just smiles and their feet brushing under the table now and then. At some point Sherlock started talking, more to himself than to John, about the case and John listened with a smile, nodding and agreeing from time to time.

In the end, they made it back to the flat both full and exhausted. John eyed the sofa with a sigh as soon as he got out of the bathroom, having changed into his pants and a t-shirt.

“Don’t be an idiot, John,” Sherlock called from his bedroom.

“Am I now?” John called back with a smile.

“Since you’re not currently here with me, yes, you are,” Sherlock pointed out, stepping out of his bedroom and leaning against the door frame.

John let his eyes travel down his chest and endless legs before joining him, “I’m actually tired tonight,” he said letting one hand slide against Sherlock’s waist, “I’m not sure I ca-”

“Sleep is fine, John,” Sherlock cut in, pushing them both inside and onto the bed.

“I really can sleep on the sofa,” John offered one last time before being cut off by Sherlock’s lips on his. He let himself relax into the touch, noticing Sherlock blindly pulling the covers above them both before rolling to his side. “Ok I can stay here,” John smiled.

Sherlock closed his eyes and John fell silent. He watched for as long as he dared, well aware that Sherlock could feel his stare, before rolling to his back and closing his eyes too. He could feel Sherlock’s warmth, close and yet not close enough. They had fallen asleep snuggled together the two previous nights but only because they just had sex. Sex brings people, bodies together.

But this, right now, this was intimacy, and John had no idea what he was supposed to do.

*      *       *

Sherlock was still asleep when John woke the next morning. He remained still, afraid to even turn onto his side and wake him up. He just stared at him, feeling something close to adoration build inside his chest, and in a moment a bright clarity, John came to accept the simple and yet devastating fact that he had feelings for Sherlock Holmes. There was no point of denying it anymore, not after yesterday. John couldn’t get enough of him, he needed Sherlock more than he had ever needed anyone before. He needed to touch him, to kiss him, to make him his over and over again. He needed to stay with him, to run next to him, to evolve around him.

Sherlock Holmes had burst into his life and John knew now he didn’t want him to leave.

Feeling Sherlock shift next to him, John allowed himself to roll onto his side and watch him more closely. He still had a mark on his neck from John’s lips the night before, and John resisted the urge to kiss over it.

“You’re staring,” Sherlock breathed out softly, and John laughed.

“Sorry.”

Sherlock smiled lazily, stretching under the covers, his leg bumping into John’s. “We need to get up and go.”

John rolled his eyes, “We have two days left, and it’ll only take a few hours to get to Wales. I’d say we’re okay.”

Sherlock sighed, turning his face to look at him and John could pinpoint the exact moment something changed on his face, the moment he went from a sleepy comfortable state to entirely focused.

“Do you want to stay in London for another day, then?” Sherlock asked.

John considered the option for a moment, “No, I miss being on the road.” He kept the _with you_ to himself.

Sherlock nodded, not looking away, “That means we’ll get there earlier than planned.”

John felt like he should be reading between the lines here. Why was Sherlock insisting so much on their time plan?

“That’s alright, Harry won’t mind,” he replied, not sure if that’s what Sherlock was worried about and seriously doubting it was the case. “Or maybe we could-” He stopped, realising the implication of what he was going to say next.

“What?” Sherlock asked, turning on his side to face him properly.

John inhaled deeply, “Maybe we could stop on the way, spend the night somewhere. Maybe find some cool place or landscape to see.”

Sherlock didn’t reply right away, eyes roaming over his face. John knew he was saying too much already. They could just drive all the way to Wales and Sherlock would be able to drive back the very same day. This, John’s offer, was just one way to spend more time together. Surely Sherlock already knew that, already deduced John’s true intention.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sherlock finally replied, and it had never been harder to resist the urge to kiss him.


	6. Day 5

They were back inside the car by eleven am, their bags packed and some sandwiches ready for the upcoming lunch break. Neither of them had discussed the obvious fact that they were buying time with this overnight trip, and John was silently thanking Sherlock for it. He wasn’t stupid and knew Sherlock must have guessed why he had offered the change of plan in the first place, but for some unknown reason, Sherlock had gone along with it and even offered some of his own suggestions as to where they should stop or eat on the way. One thing was certain, John intended to make these two last days count. He wanted, no needed to make the best of them and take all he could before they had to part ways and go on as if nothing ached inside his chest every time he met Sherlock's eyes for nearly a week now. He already dreaded the moment he’d have to say goodbye to Sherlock, knowing he’d never cross his path ever again, never kiss him again, never touch him again.

“Forget something?”

John shook his head, realising he had been sitting, both hands on the wheel, and not saying a word for a full minute.

“No, no, sorry,” he apologized quickly. “Let’s go.”

Sherlock stared at him for a second longer before nodding and looking back at the road. John hit the road, casting one last look at Sherlock’s building and wondering if he'd ever see that facade again, ever climb those stairs, ever lie down in Sherlock's bed again. He didn't comment on any of it, and did his best to keep his facial expressions as neutral as possible. There was no need to add any additional suspicion as to what he was thinking right now. Sherlock remained silent as well, and they drove out of London in complete silence. It had nothing in common with the silences they had shared before, all of those had felt comfortable, as if they were still talking just only with shy glances and tentative touches. John wished he could just place his hand back on Sherlock's thigh and not worry about what it implied now that they knew it would all end in less than 48 hours.

When the buildings were behind them and the landscape started to look more and more peaceful, John started to wonder when exactly he could make the first stop. He needed to keep some distance between this trip and Harry's place, needed just a few more moments alone with Sherlock and lunch time held so many promises he couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Are you hungry?" He asked after pondering the question for all too long.

Sherlock's eyes met his for a second, "Starting too, yes."

John felt his lips curl into a smile, knowing somehow that this was probably just a way for Sherlock to tell him they could stop anytime he wanted, and that he was probably not going to eat his own sandwich. John chose not to comment on it, looking back at the road and saying, "I saw a sign earlier about a picnic area in a few miles, want to stop there?"

Sherlock nodded, humming absently. John tapped his fingers against the wheel, teeth worrying at his lower lip as they fell back into silence. He kept an eye out for any other signs indicating they were getting closer, and by the time he was finally exiting the main road, his stomach was growling. Sherlock glanced at him, a smile on his lips, and John shrugged, "Can't help it."

"You ate not three hours ago," Sherlock replied.

"Well, those sandwiches looked delicious," John said. "And besides, we need strength."

Sherlock frowned at him, "We do?"

"Yes," John nodded. "Who knows, maybe we'll cross paths with a serial killer!"

Sherlock stared at him for a long moment before laughing, eyes shining with something close to happiness and John somehow managed to keep his hands to himself, "That would be marvelous, wouldn't it?" Sherlock asked, still looking at him with a soft smile on his lips.

"Marvelous, I don't know," John replied honestly, looking for a place to park. "But interesting for sure."

Sherlock unbuckled his seatbelt, turning to face him and said, "I've already caught one, you know, a serial killer."

John's eyes widened, "Really?"

Sherlock nodded, tongue darting out to wet his lips and really, there was nothing John could do to stop himself from staring.

"I'll tell you about it," Sherlock said. "Later."

John nodded, and despite wishing nothing more but to kiss Sherlock right now, it still took him completely by surprise when Sherlock leant in and sealed their lips, lingering there for a long moment. John closed his eyes, one hand finding Sherlock's nape immediately, and he held on tightly. His tongue was already parting Sherlock's lips, licking into his mouth and finally, finally getting a proper good morning kiss. It had been tempting him all morning, ever since he had woken up next to Sherlock, and this was absolutely, well, marvelous. Sherlock's hands found their rightful place on his waist, pulling him closer despite everything between them, and John cursed against this bloody car.

"We should go," Sherlock said when they parted, remaining close.

John nodded once more, letting their lips brush again and stealing another kiss before pulling away, "Yes, let's go."

Sherlock was the first one out of the car, already heading for the boot and pulling their stuff out. John followed quickly, grabbing two bottles of water and a blanket. They found a path in the woods nearby and soon they were standing in the middle of a vast expanse of grass. "This will do nicely," John asserted, already spreading out the blanket.

Sherlock waited until everything was ready before sitting down, pulling their plates and sandwiches out of the basket they had prepared. John bit into his  immediately, smiling as Sherlock barely picked at his own, and for a moment, they remained like that. The noises of the woods around them, the sun rising higher and higher and this feeling of belonging taking over John's body entirely. He wondered for a moment if now was the moment to ask the question that had been in the corner of his mind for the past few days, and he realised it was now or never. He set down his bottle, glancing at Sherlock before taking a deep breath, "Sherlock?"

Sherlock only hummed in response, looking over at him.

"The drugs," John continued. "Why?"

Sherlock's eyes remained fixed on him for a long moment, not answering yet but not walking away either, so John waited patiently.

"I," Sherlock began before stopping. He sighed, looking down at his lap. "The world can be so boring sometimes. The people, the conversation, the expectation, all of it, just so very boring. I've never understood why people cared so much, about their job, their life, each other. In the end, we can only count on ourselves, so why does everyone always try to find someone else to fix their own issues."

John swallowed slowly, not certain if he was meant to reply or not, but Sherlock continued before he could say anything.

"My brother understood that, very early on, and made sure I was just as aware." Sherlock glanced back at him, breathing in deeply. "The drugs, they were merely a way a shutting down the world around me, to make it a little more bearable. I never meant to become an addict, and for a time, I managed to convince myself I could stop whenever I wanted. It became clear I was an addict, indeed, after the second rehab."

"Harry went there four times," John said, not sure why. "She kept insisting she was better and all of the sudden, she wasn't anymore."

Sherlock nodded, "It was just so much of a relief when I finally had a fix. I simply didn't want to stop."

John waited until Sherlock was looking at him again before saying, "But you did. Stop, I mean."

Sherlock nodded slowly, not looking away as he added, "Mycroft gave me an ultimatum, Lestrade did too. And I guess, I also found my own motivation."

John smiled, not wanting to read too much into that but having trouble not to. Sherlock remained silent, not looking away and letting the moment linger, letting it turn into something more.

"My parents are going to be there," John found himself saying. "At Harry's birthday."

"I thought so, yes," Sherlock replied carefully, and John felt a knot form in his chest.

"They don't know," he continued. "About Mary, about my sexuality, about the medical courses I wish I could finally take. They don't know, and I don't think I can continue to lie to them. I should be able to explain why it matters to me, why I need to take my life back and finally do what I want. They should understand."

Sherlock seemed to be struggling for a moment, "I don't know what you're expecting me to say. I barely talk to my parents anymore, not because we are on bad terms, but because I don't do relationships. Any kind of them. I manage just fine on my own, and I have no idea what parents are expected to do or say when it comes to their children. Love, surely, and compassion."

John looked back at his bottle, finger picking at the paper around it, "Surely, yes." They remained silent for a minute. "Can I ask another question?" Sherlock nodded. "This whole relationship thing, do you really believe it?"

Sherlock seemed surprised, frowning at John before replying, "Relationships are messy. When you enter one, you're always on the verge of making everything worse, of ruining what you have. You're constantly depending on the other and in the end you're alone."

John shook his head, laughing nervously, "You're missing the point entirely." Sherlock raised one eyebrow, questioning. "Yes, it is a constant state of worrying that it could end suddenly, but when there is trust, when you believe in the other, when there's love, the worries just don't matter anymore."

"What about Mary, then," Sherlock asked. "Weren't there trust and love there?"

John shook his head. He should have known Sherlock would bring her up after all. "They were, at first yes. But I realise now it was mostly on my part, and that with time, I started to see exactly what Mary wanted from our relationship. It had nothing to do with my own expectation, nothing to do with love. It was all about control."

"So how do you know, then? How do you tell the difference?"

John realised Sherlock was genuinely asking, and he considered his reply for a long moment. It could be so easy to just tell him, to just point out what they'd been experiencing since they left Scotland and ask him if it felt like control? Or more like love.

"I think you just know," John finally said. "You trust that person and hope they trust you in return."

"It sounds all too risky, don't you think?" Sherlock asked, his voice almost a whisper.

John smiled, "That's the beauty of it."

Sherlock seemed to consider his answer for a moment before nodding. They fell back into a comfortable silence, John finishing eating slowly and glancing at Sherlock now and then. He wondered if he had managed to convince him, if Sherlock would just think about how brilliant they could be together. Because of course they would be. There was no other option. It didn't matter that Sherlock had entered his life just a few days ago. John already knew he wanted nothing more but to wake up next to him every morning and let himself be kissed for several minutes.

"We should get back to the car," Sherlock suddenly said. "I've found a bed and breakfast about half way between Harry's place and London. We're not far, but we'll have to make a small detour, there's no highway leading there."

John nodded, "You've actually researched this."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I was on my computer and just happened to find the place."

John laughed, starting to gather their things while willing himself not to push Sherlock down on the blanket and ravish him. They'd have time for that later, hopefully. John intended to make this last night count, and if Sherlock allowed him to, make love to him for several hours.

"John," Sherlock called, forcing him to look back up. "You can't be thinking about tonight now."

John laughed, "I won't even ask you how you know I am thinking about that, but you're right, if I don't stop now I won't be able to focus on the road."

Sherlock joined him in laughter and they exchanged knowing smiles as they walked back to the car. Sherlock used his phone as a GPS, entering the bed and breakfast's address. John didn't allow himself to hesitate this time, and slid his hand up Sherlock's thigh and let it remain there. He felt Sherlock's eyes on him for the briefest second, and then his own hand found its place back on top of John's.

"Tell me about that serial killer," John said, and Sherlock began to tell him everything in great detail.

 

*      *      *

 

The bed and breakfast was absolutely beautiful. John kept it to himself rather than say it out loud, knowing Sherlock had probably chosen this place exactly for that reason. They parked the car quickly, grabbing their suitcases and John went to the lobby as Sherlock smoked outside. He kept an eye on him as he waited for their keys. They still had a few hours before dinner, and he wondered what Sherlock would like to do. He had some ideas himself, but he couldn't show Sherlock just how eager he was to get him into bed again. 

He needed to remain in control, at least for now, until he could figure out what to do.

"Here's your key, your room is down this hallway right here."

John followed the man's directions with a quick look before thanking him and heading back outside to get Sherlock.

"I have the key," he smiled.

Sherlock dropped his cigarette into the trash, "Ready."

They headed to the room, chatting absently about the decorations and prospects this bed and breakfast offered, but the only one John cared about was the bed behind the door he was currently opening. Sherlock immediately went to put his bag by the window, looking outside in silence, and John set his own things on the floor. He rubbed a hand over his nape and hair, exhaling deeply before saying, "So, do you want to go explore, see what there's to do around here?"

Sherlock hummed absently, not turning around to look at him.

"I think I saw something about a spa," John continued. "Could be nice. Then we could have dinner, they have a restaurant here."

He heard Sherlock sigh, "We could yes." He turned to face him, and for a second, John lost all ability to breathe. "Or we could stay here."

John closed the distance between them in less than a second, backing Sherlock against the wall and crashing their mouths together. Sherlock wrapped himself around him immediately, hands finding his hair and one leg locked about his waist. John rocked their hips together, already feeling Sherlock's erection pressing against his own.

"Christ, I've been thinking about this all day," John panted, kissing all over Sherlock's jaw and neck. "Wanted to kiss you, to touch you."

He hurried to kiss Sherlock again before he could say too much. Sherlock moaned into the kiss, hands now tugging on John's shirt. "Off," he breathed out. "Off, now."

John forced himself to slow things down. He didn't want them to just hurry into something hot and messy, not this time. He wanted to make things last, to take Sherlock apart piece by piece and build him back up again. Pulling away just enough to look at him, John whispered, "Bed. We need to go to the bed."

Sherlock licked his lips, nodding, and John pulled him toward the large double bed. He didn't even think about asking Sherlock if it was alright, but judging by the heat in his eyes right now, John knew he had made the right choice. Still smiling, he took Sherlock's hand and placed it on his shirt, encouraging him to carry on. Sherlock's fingers were slightly shaking as he tugged the shirt over John's head, kissing at his shoulder immediately. John sighed, throwing his head back and sliding both hands up and down Sherlock's back and arse.

Without a word, he began to work on Sherlock's shirt buttons, pulling them out one by one until he could slide his shirt down his shoulders and arms. Sherlock stopped his exploration, looking up at him, and John stroked his cheek with one hand. He nodded toward the bed, and Sherlock lay down first, arms open as John crawled on top of him.

They resumed kissing, softly, deeply, and John rolled his hips against Sherlock's ever so slowly. He felt Sherlock shiver beneath him, and with the same slow pace, John went to work on Sherlock’s trousers and pants. He only allowed Sherlock to pull away so he could slide them down his legs, and John took advantage of the moment to finish undressing himself. They stared at each other for a long moment, taking everything of the other in, and when John went to lie back down on top of him, Sherlock moaned his name over and over again.

"I want you," John breathed out. "God, I want you."

Sherlock arched against him, pressing their groins together and letting their erections slide against one another. "Yes," he panted, "Anything."

John kissed him again, letting their tongues meet and part for long minutes before breaking the kiss, "You need to be certain, I don't want to hu-"

Sherlock stopped him with another kiss, "You won't. I want it too."

John stared down at him for a moment more before sealing their lips again. Sherlock was all but thrusting against him, and with a roll of his hips, he managed to make John's cock slide down his arse, making them both gasp. "Fuck," John moaned, already out of breath.

"In my trousers, left pocket," Sherlock said, breathing heavily himself. "Condom, lube."

John smiled, "You had lube and condoms in your pocket this whole time?"

"No," Sherlock replied, shaking his head, "Bought them in London."

John could have told him, right there, that he might already be in love with him, but chose to lean for another kiss instead. Soon, he thought, I'll tell you before you can leave for London again. Another roll of Sherlock's hips reminded him that he really needed to get a hold of Sherlock's trousers, and now.

"Wait," John said, pulling away, "Let me just-"

Sherlock reached for the trousers himself, taking out what they needed quickly before pulling John back down. "Brilliant," John smiled, and let Sherlock kiss it away from his lips. They remained close, thrusting against each other for what could have been hours before Sherlock started to shake in his arms, and John grabbed the lube.

"Are you certain?" He asked one more time, and Sherlock nodded. John licked his lips, pouring some lube on his fingers before sliding them down between their bodies. They both looked down as John's middle finger started to massage Sherlock's entrance slowly.

"Hmmm," Sherlock moaned, throwing his head back against the pillow.

John looked back up, seeing that Sherlock had his eyes closed, teeth digging into his lower lip. "No," he said, stroking his thumb over his mouth. "Don't. I want to hear you."

Sherlock opened back up his eyes, staring up at him before letting out a deep sigh. John pushed the tip of his finger inside him, and Sherlock whimpered, "John."

John let his finger slide deeper, eyes not missing a single bit of the moment, and Sherlock kept his eyes open and fixed on John the entire time. Slowly, John started to thrust his finger inside Sherlock, giving him the time to get used to it before adding another, and Sherlock cried out, loud.

"Oh god," John moaned, looking back down at his fingers. "You feel amazing."

Sherlock was panting as he replied, "You feel amazing too."

John smiled, leaning down for a kiss, and he took advantage of Sherlock's body relaxing into the touch to add a third finger. He felt Sherlock tense for a second before breathing out deeply through his nose. John pulled away just enough to look down at him, searching for any signs of pain, but finding only pleasure and absolute trust there. With shaking fingers, John reached for the condom.

"Let me," Sherlock breathed out, opening the package quickly and sliding the condom over John's erection.

"Oh fuck," John moaned, thrusting into Sherlock's fist. Sherlock stroked him again, and John's finger stilled inside him. "Don't, or I'll come right here and now."

Sherlock smiled up at him, "And we don't want that to happen."

John laughed, "No, we really don't."

Sherlock let go of his cock, pulling him down for another kiss, and John removed his fingers slowly. He felt Sherlock breathe deeply, their chests rising against each other, as he guided himself toward his arse. John checked for a final confirmation before pushing in slowly, so very slowly.

"John,” Sherlock whimpered, one leg already locked around his waist.

John grabbed his thighs, pulling them up as he pushed further into him, "Christ, Sherlock, you-"

Unable to finish his sentence, John slid into him until his pelvis was pressed against Sherlock's arse. He stilled, looking down at Sherlock but closing his eyes quickly. He couldn't look at him, not now or he'd come in less than two minutes. He needed to make this last, needed to give Sherlock everything.

"John," Sherlock whispered, one hand stroking his cheek. "Open your eyes."

"I..." John began, desperate to make him understand just overwhelmed he felt.

"I know," Sherlock murmured again. "I know."

John opened his eyes slowly, staring down at him and wondering how exactly he had become so lucky. Sherlock smiled, rolling his hips slowly and they both moaned. Keeping their gazes locked together, John started to move, pulling out only to push right back in. Sherlock was biting his lip again, but with just a shake of John's head, he stopped holding back. He cried out loudly again as John seemed to have found his prostate, "Sorry, it's just so-"

"No," John stopped him. "Don’t be sorry."

Sherlock slid both arms around his waist, pulling him down and kissing him again. John started to thrust in earnest, having held back for too long now, and he felt Sherlock move and shake and moan with every thrust. He couldn't say how long they remained like that, letting their bodies meet over and over again, but when Sherlock's movements started to become less and less controlled, John made sure to pull back a bit  so he could look down at him again.

"You're so beautiful," he panted, "So beautiful."

"John," Sherlock moaned, "John,  _ John _ ."

Sherlock came with his name still on his lips, and John could only watch and watch and watch. _ I love you _ , he thought without finding the courage to say it out loud.  _ Christ, I'm in love with you _ .

"Sherlock," he moaned, driving into him now, "God, Sherlock."

Sherlock held him close, his muscles contracting around his erection, and John slid one last time into him before starting to come too. He all but let himself fall on top of Sherlock, trying to find regain his breath and wishing they could remain there for hours and hours. When he finally came back to reality, Sherlock was tracing patterns on his back, and John let himself roll on his side, pulling out of Sherlock at the same time.

"I'll go get something to clean ourselves," Sherlock murmured and he was out of the bed before John could say anything.

John rolled to his back, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Sherlock moving around the bathroom. He turned to look at him when he walked back into the room, having cleaned himself already and giving John a wet flannel. John took care of himself quickly, throwing the towel on the floor and watching Sherlock silently as he came back to bed. He lay on his back, the distance feeling infinite, and John tried not to think too much about it. Gathering all the courage he could muster, he slid one hand between their bodies and grabbed Sherlock's. He waited for a second before shifting closer and closer, until he could pull Sherlock toward him.

Sherlock went willingly, his head finding John's chest. John tangled their legs, nuzzling his nose in Sherlock's curls and breathing him in. They remained still, curled around each other, and without another word, John fell asleep.

He was not sure what woke him up later, but the other side of the bed was empty and the room entirely dark except from the light coming from the window. John turned to his side, finding Sherlock there smoking, still naked, still breathtaking. John watched in silence, detailing every inch of him and feeling another pang of arousal build low in his belly. He closed his eyes, trying to remain in control and letting the moment sink in.

_ Tomorrow, he thought. I'm going to ask you tomorrow, ask you if I can come back to London with you and stay there. Ask you if I can share your bed again, for good this time. Ask you if you will take the risk to give our relationship a chance. Tomorrow. _

"You're awake," came Sherlock's voice, and John looked back at him.

"So are you," he replied, smiling.

Sherlock blew out more smoke, not looking at him. "I couldn't sleep."

John waited another moment, not sure if he was meant to reply at all. It suddenly felt like too much to be looking at Sherlock, and he turned to look back at the ceiling. "Why?" He finally asked.

He heard more than he saw Sherlock turn before closing the window. He didn't reply, simply walking back to the bed and lying back down, on top of the covers. John closed his eyes.

"Go back to sleep, John," Sherlock whispered, and somehow, John did.


	7. Chapter 7

John woke up feeling ridiculously happy. 

Sherlock was asleep, still wrapped around him, his breath hot against John’s neck, and it was absolutely perfect.  _ That’s it _ , John thought,  _ that’s how I want to wake up from now on _ . It didn’t matter that they barely knew each other, because the last few days had felt as if Sherlock had been in his life for years. He had already discovered so much about the man, but there was so much more he still had to learn. He wanted to be able to trace each line of Sherlock’s body with his eyes closed, to know all the places that made him laugh or squirm or beg for more. He wanted to know the exact taste of Sherlock’s lips in the morning, when he just woke up, in the middle of the day, when not kissing him isn’t an option, in the evening, when they’re both sleepy and warm.

It didn’t matter that in less than two hours they were supposed to part ways, because John wasn’t going to let Sherlock slip between his fingers. He was going to be brave and tell him, ask him for  _ more _ and hope like hell that this brilliant, beautiful man would say yes.

“Hmm,” Sherlock stirred, slowly waking up and John looked down at him, smiling.

“Morning,” he breathed, not fighting the urge to kiss Sherlock’s temple, not anymore. “Sleep well?” Sherlock began to stretch, rolling to his back and raising both arms up above his head. John watched, mesmerized, speechless, and just bit more in love. “When did you come back to bed?”

“Not long after you fell back asleep,” Sherlock replied, turning to face him again and John rolled to his side as well. They stared at each other for a long moment, simply breathing the same air and enjoying the morning sun peeking through the window. “We should get up.”

John sighed, reaching back for him and pulling him closer again, “Are you in a hurry?” Sherlock shook his head, letting their lips brush and John had to swallow back the words threatening to come out. “Then kiss me first.”

Sherlock did, amazingly so, and John got lost in his taste once more. He allowed Sherlock to part his lips and meet his tongue, kissing each other lazily in a bed still holding memories of the night they had just shared. John tried to not think too much about it, neither about Sherlock’s welcoming heat or his face as he reached orgasm. For some unknown reason, John had been certain they had shared something special just a few hours ago, and he wasn’t ready yet to break the spell.

“Your sister is waiting for us for lunch,” Sherlock breathed when they parted, “and judging by your attitude this morning, it’s going to take us quite some time to even get out of this hotel room.”

John laughed, one finger tangled in Sherlock’s curls, “She can wait.”

Sherlock watched him in silence for a long moment, not saying a word, and John held his stare. He was tired of hiding, and if Sherlock wanted to read it all on his face before he spoke it out loud, then he was fine with it.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Sherlock finally said, straightening up on the bed before climbing out without another word.

John sighed, rolling to his back and staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t going to let Sherlock ruin these last hours on the road together, and if it meant being in a good mood for the both of them, then fine. He waited until he heard the shower running before getting to his feet and starting to gather his stuff. It felt strange, thinking this was the last hotel room they were going to share for this road trip, and John took a minute more to remember the last few days and just how fast it all went.

He was just about to join Sherlock inside the shower when he emerged from the bathroom, and John laughed again, “That was quick.”

“I showered during the night,” Sherlock replied. “This was just to enjoy some fresh water before the drive.”

“Oh,” John replied, now realising that Sherlock must have cleaned himself up after the night before. “I’ll get in there, then.”

“I’ll go grab some coffee, do you want some?”

“Yes,” John smiled, stealing another kiss as he walked past Sherlock. “Thank you.”

Sherlock remained still for a second before nodding and heading out quickly. John, still refusing to over think any of it, went for the shower and proceeded to will out his morning erection. He allowed himself to enjoy the water a little longer than usual, knowing it would take a while for Sherlock to come back. He tried to imagine what Harry’s reaction would be when he’d introduce Sherlock later, and another laugh escaped him.  _ She’s going to love him _ , he thought as he got out of the shower, the door slamming shut in the other room.

“Ah coffee,” he exclaimed, walking out still naked and not missing the way Sherlock’s eyes roamed all the way down his crotch.

“Three sugars,” Sherlock said, clearing his throat.

John took a first sip before setting it down, looking for some pants and putting them on. “Since you seem in a hurry, why don’t we skip breakfast and have an early lunch. I could text Harry.”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, looking down at his own phone.

John smiled, wondering if he could get away with another kiss but choosing to just get dressed instead. “Alright, let’s do this then.”

It took them barely twenty minutes to check out and get into the car, and by the time John was driving again, his hand had found Sherlock’s thigh once more. Sherlock hadn’t said anything, simply looking down at it before smiling, and John had promised himself not to move it away until they were at Harry’s. They didn’t talk much on the way, John sometimes singing with the radio and Sherlock laughing about how bad he was, but that was it. John didn’t try to make Sherlock talk, realising he must feel just as nostalgic. As the city grew closer, John’s grip on Sherlock’s thigh grew tighter, realising he’d have soon to let go and not quite sure that he could.

“You’ll stay for lunch, right?” John asked, suddenly afraid Sherlock had changed his mind.

“Yes,” Sherlock reassured him immediately.

“Good, Harry is going to love you, you know,” John smiled, his thumb now stroking Sherlock’s trousers.

“She seems quite interesting,” Sherlock replied carefully.

“Oh, yes she is,” John laughed. “She used to drive my parents mad.” His laughter died slowly, and John swallowed with difficulty. “Sherlock, I was wondering if you could come with me to see my parents this afternoon. I know you have to go back, and you don’t even have to come inside, but I’m afraid I won’t go if I’m alone.”

Sherlock turned to look at him, his own hand coming to cover John’s, “Yes, of course.”

“Thanks,” John smiled again, checking the road quickly before leaning in for a kiss, Sherlock lingering for a long moment against his lips. “I mean it,” he whispered, “thank you.”

Sherlock nodded, closing the discussion and turned back forward just as they entered the city. John used his memory to find Harry’s place, and when they finally parked in front of her apartment, Sherlock had returned to complete silence. John took care of their suitcases, leaving Sherlock’s inside the trunk before joining him on the pavement.

“Alright, let’s go in,” he breathed out, walking to the door and ringing Harry’s flat.

“John! Come in!” She answered before he could say anything, and the door unlocked as she hang up.

“She’s probably already on the stairs,” John said, smiling at Sherlock, and as expected, John collided into his sister in the middle of their way up. “Harry.”

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Harry exclaimed, hugging him tightly. “I know you said you’d be here, but with you no one ever knows!”

“Nice,” John replied, unable to stop smiling, and he hugged her back. “Harry, this is Sherlock.”

Harry finally let go of him, turning to face Sherlock and shaking his hand, “Yes, John told me about you!”

“Hello,” Sherlock said, smiling.

“Well, I said talked, I meant that he couldn’t shut up about you over the phone,” Harry replied, winking at him, and John really hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Come on, let’s get upstairs!”

She dragged them both up to her flat only to force them to sit down in the kitchen right away, as she fetched plates and forks and dishes all the while rambling about how excited she was.

“Harry,” John stopped her, pulling her to sit down, “This is perfect.”

She smiled at him, tearing up, “I’m really happy you’re here, John.”

John squeezed her hand, “I’m glad I’m here too.”

“And you too,” she added, turning to face Sherlock. “Thank you for bringing him here.”

“Well, he was the one driving,” Sherlock replied.

“You know what I mean,” Harry laughed. “Thank you.”

Sherlock nodded, glancing at him and John brushed his foot under the table.

“Ok, now let’s eat,” Harry declared, and then proceed to ask all the details about their trip. John, of course, left out the most interesting ones, and didn’t miss the way Sherlock blushed when he begin to explain the end of their second day. “You guys had so much fun,” Harry sighed once he was finished. “I can’t believe you arrested a man!”

“We didn’t technically arrest him,” John corrected her. “And besides, Sherlock did all the work.”

“If I remember correctly, your tackle was very efficient, John,” Sherlock added, smiling.

“I’m sure it was,” Harry said, standing up and gathering their plates. “Any desert?”

“I’ve already eaten too much,” John sighed.

Sherlock shook his head too before asking, “Harry, can I use your bathroom?”

“Yes, right down the hall,” she replied, watching him go before sitting back next to John. “Okay, what’s the deal with you two?”

“Harry…” John sighed.

“Oh come on, you can’t look away from him, and it looks like you could jump on him any time!”

John laughed, rubbing a hand against his nape, “We might have shared the same bed during the road trip, yes.”

“I knew it!” Harry laughed, bumping his shoulder. “I’m happy for you, little brother.”

“We’re not together,” John replied. “It was just…”

“What? Sex?”

“Yeah,” John replied, sighing. “But you know me…”

“I do,” Harry smiled, “and I’m sure Sherlock is going to kiss you breathless once you ask him.”

John looked over to where Sherlock had disappeared, almost wishing he could just pretend he had another place to drive to. It was easy in the privacy of hotel rooms, where they didn’t have to talk, didn’t have to build something.

“Mom and Dad are home?” John asked, changing the subject before Sherlock came back. Harry nodded. “I’m going go to talk to them, tell them about Mary, about me.”

Harry took his hand, squeezing, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, you have a birthday to plan,” John replied, “and besides Sherlock agreed to drive over there with me.”

“Oh, did he now?” Harry grinned, winking at him. “Isn’t it a bit early to introduce him to them?”

John was just about to shut her up when Sherlock came back, remaining in the doorway and looking at him. John smiled, finding that he’d quite like to kiss him right now. “I was telling Harry about my parents.”

“When do you have to go?” Harry asked, turning back to do the dishes.

“We should do it now,” Sherlock said. “To get it out of the way.”

John nodded, sighing, “You’re right.” He got to his feet, checking Harry didn’t need any help before joining Sherlock, assuring Harry they’ll be back soon. He waited until they were outside the flat before pushing Sherlock against the nearest wall and kissing him deeply. He felt Sherlock’s hands slide down his back to his hips, holding him there, and John tried to let some of his stress fade away.

“Alright?” Sherlock asked when they parted, and John nodded, breathing out slowly. He was about to pull away when Sherlock chased his lips again, hands now on his head and his tongue dancing with John’s for several minutes. They were both breathless when he let go, and John smiled, already desperate for more.

“Let’s go,” John smiled, taking Sherlock’s hand and holding on to it all the way outside.

They only had a ten minute drive, and Sherlock stared outside his window the entire time. John tried to focus on the road, not liking the way this silence felt nothing like the others, but not saying a word about it to Sherlock.

“We’re here,” he said once he parked, looking at the small house on the other side of the road.

“I’ll wait for you here,” Sherlock said, turning to face him.

“It won’t take long,” John assured him. “Afterward we could go take a walk, I know a really nice park here.”

“If you want, yes,” Sherlock replied, smiling.

“Ok,” John breathed out loudly, “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck, John,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, and John laughed.

He got out of the car before he could change his mind, looking one last time at Sherlock after knocking. He was about to run back to the car for another kiss when the door opened, his mother looking at him with surprised, “John!”

“Hi mom,” John said softly.

“Come in, come in,” she said, moving away so he could step in, and John let her close the door behind him.

“Is dad home?” John asked, walking to the living room only to find his father sitting there. “Oh, hi Dad.”

“Johnny,” his father greeted him, standing up to shake his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I came for Harry’s birthday,” he explained.

His mother joined them, asking, “Where’s Mary?”

John waited until they were sitting before saying, “Mary and I aren’t together anymore.”

“Oh,” his mother sighed. “That’s too bad, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” John replied, smiling. “She didn’t accept the whole me, so I’m glad it ended, really.”

His father frowned at him, “The whole you?”

“Yeah,” John replied, finger picking at his trousers. “That’s why I came by actually. I wanted to tell you too because you’re my parents and you should know all of it.”

“John,” his mother smiled, “just tell us.”

John inhaled deeply, “A bit over a week ago, I told Mary that I’m attracted to both women and men.” Only silence welcomed his words, and he glanced at his father before continuing, “You can guess that she reacted badly, and after another fight, I’ve decided to leave her. She didn’t trust me anymore anyway, so there was no point in staying with her.”

“You,” his mother began before clearing her throat. “You’re attracted to men?”

“And women, both, mom.” She nodded, not saying anything. “But that’s just a part of who I am, I just thought you should know.”

“Yes, thank you for telling us,” his mother replied, glancing at her husband, still silent.

John knew not to force him to talk, and he quickly changed the subject, “I’m moving back to London to continue Medical School.”

“That’s nice,” his mother smiled. “I always thought you should be a doctor.”

John smiled, “I’m driving back there after Harry’s birthday, with a friend. Actually, I should go, he’s waiting for me.” His mother flinched at the pronoun but didn’t say anything, getting up with him. “Bye Dad,” John tried anyway, not getting any reply.

“You know him,” his mother replied instead, “give him time.”

“Yes, sure,” John said, walking back toward the front door, and he let his mother hug him before saying, “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

He didn’t linger much longer, already wishing nothing more but to be back with Sherlock and forget about it all. It could have gone worse, and John silently thanked his mother for being ever so polite, but he knew he’d have to explain it all again very soon. Smiling one last time at her, John opened the door and stepped out, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing in deeply.

Sherlock wasn’t near the car when he opened them again, and he walked toward it, looking around for him. Nothing. “Sherlock?” he called, stopping by the car and trying to search all around. A bunch of kids were playing not far and a couple walked by, but no Sherlock. He was about to take out his phone when he noticed the keys on the driver seat and with his heart pounding, John went to the trunk only to find it empty. “No,” he breathed, dialing Sherlock’s number. “Answer, answer,” he silently wished but the call went to Sherlock’s voice mail directly. “Sherlock, it’s me. Where are you? Call me back, please.”

Why had he taken his bag? Why had he left the car? Why had he left him there?

John tried to call him once more, then another time, just in case before throwing his phone on the passenger seat. “Fuck,” he cursed out loud, fist hitting the wheel. Had he been that stupid? Did Sherlock really see what they shared as just sex? Just a fun way to pass time? “A complete idiot, that’s what I am!” Of course Sherlock had left him like this. He had probably deduced John’s feelings already and decided to spare him the chance to be ridiculous later, confessing his love when Sherlock didn’t feel the same. “Idiot!”

John started the car, driving all the way to Harry’s with a lump in his throat and his entire chest aching. He slammed the door shut, going all the way up to Harry’s flat and slamming the door there too.

“John?” Harry called, but he went directly for the bathroom, realising he was already on the edge of crying. “John,” Harry called again from behind the door, “Did it go bad? Where’s Sherlock? John?”

“Leave me alone,” John replied, voice breaking.

“John,” Harry said, much more softly. “Tell me what it is.”

“He fucking left,” John almost yelled, resisting the urge to punch the mirror in front of him. “He just left his car and took off!”

“Sherlock? But it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Apparently it does to him,” John replied, laughing nervously. “I’m such an idiot, a fucking idiot.”

“Open this door,” Harry said, “or I’ll break it down.” Fearing she might, John let did as he asked only to find his sister glaring at him. “Now you listen to me, the man who was in my flat barely thirty minutes ago was as much smitten as you.”

“Clearly he wasn’t,” John replied harshly.

“I watched the two of you stare at each other the whole time we ate, you barely could look away from him, John, and he couldn’t either. I could even feel your bloody feet brushing together under the table!” John opened his mouth, ready to find something to object to, but Harry shut him up with another glare. “You don’t look at your booty call like that, John!”

John laughed, unable to stop himself, “Booty call?”

Harry rolled her eyes, poking him with one finger, “Now you think back over the past few days you spent with him and you tell me if you really think it meant nothing to him.”

John closed his eyes, memories of all the nights they shared, and Sherlock’s face the night before came back to him, open and trusting. Full of something bright.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry said.

“He left, Harry,” John replied, not sure what to think anymore.

“Then go after him.”

“I don’t know,” John said, shrugging. “Maybe when I move back to London. I’ll look for him, try to get an explanation.”

“It’ll be too late,” Harry sighed.

“Then he should have stayed,” John replied, feeling his anger coming back. “I need to give him back his car anyway.”

Harry looked at him for a long second before saying, “Have you tried to phone him?”

“Oh fuck, my phone, I left it in the car,” John cursed. “He might have called back!”

He could still hear Harry laughing as he ran back downstairs, rushing to the car and looking everywhere for his phone. Searching around the passenger seat, John’s shaking fingers closed around something much softer than a phone, and he slowly picked up Sherlock’s scarf. He stared at it for a long moment, remembering the way Sherlock curled it around his neck no matter how hot it was outside.  _ I never go outside without it,  _ he had said one night when John had been teasing him again.  _ I like the way it feels _ .

“He forgot his scarf,” John breathed to himself, still staring at the fabric.

His mind still racing, John went back to look for his phone, checking for any missed calls as soon as he found it but nothing. The scarf still in hand, he rushed back up to Harry’s, pushing the door open and grabbing his bag that was still set in the hall. “I’m going back to London.”

Harry came out of the kitchen, “Took you long enough.

“I’m sorry I’ll miss your birthday.”

“There’ll be plenty of other ones to celebrate,” Harry replied. “Now get out of here and go get your man.”

John laughed, feeling ridiculously hopeful again, and kissed her on the cheek before running back to the car. He threw his bag in the trunk and quickly entered Sherlock’s address in his phone. Sherlock had most likely taken a cab and was only over an hour ahead of him. Not remembering the last time he drove this fast, John didn’t let anything distract him all the way to London. He slowed down once the entered the city, his own doubts and hopes coming back full force, and he forced himself not to panic as he slowly made his way to Sherlock’s building. He recognized the street as soon as he got closer, and he took the first parking place he found, practically running to the door.

He rang Sherlock’s flat once, twice, three times before trying his neighbor, and the man answered immediately, “Sorry to bother you, I’m looking for Sherlock Holmes.”

“Holmes? He moved out!”

John’s world crashed around him, “What? When?”

“Someone came yesterday to collect all his stuff,” the man replied. “There’s nothing left.”

“Oh, ok. Thank you anyway,” John breathed, head spinning. How was it possible? Did Sherlock really move out just to be sure John wouldn’t be able to find him?

“Mate, are you still there?” The man called.

“Yes,” John replied quickly.

“I heard the mover talk about Baker Street, 221B I think.”

“Thank you!” John exclaimed, running back to the car and entering the new address in his phone. Just ten minutes away. He started the car once more, entering traffic and counting the minutes to Baker Street. It took him five long minutes to find a place to park, and then he had to run up the street to get to 221B.

He stopped, staring at the black door and holding tightly to Sherlock’s scarf.  _ I can do this _ . Breathing out deeply, John went to knock, having to wait barely a minute for an old woman to open the door, “Yes?”

“Hi,” John said, “I’m looking for Sherlock Holmes.”

“A client already?” She asked, not giving the time for John to reply before shouting, “Sherlock, someone’s here for you.”

John’s heart was pounding as the woman let him in, he stared up the stairs as he heard someone walk above them. He was barely breathing when Sherlock appeared at the top, staring down at him, “You found it.”

John breathed in deeply, “You forgot it in the car.”

“I never forget anything, John,” Sherlock replied, his lips curling into a smile.

“You moved out,” John said, taking a step forward.

“Mr. Hitch spies on his neighbors,” Sherlock replied, as if they were just stating facts.

“You left,” John added, moving closer to the first step.

Sherlock remained silent for a moment before saying, “I was counting on you to find me, if that’s what you wanted.”

John laughed, head thrown back and his entire body shaking with relief. He heard Sherlock’s laughter join his, and deciding he needed a kiss, John climbed the steps to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for following me throughout this story, I know it took a long time to finish, but you all made me want to write each chapter with all the kudos and comments :)
> 
> Love,  
> Pauline.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment are really appreciated :)
> 
> [I do fic commission now](http://johnlockfulfillment.tumblr.com/tagged/fic-commission)


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